


Samael

by tahirire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Evil Sam Winchester, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-04
Updated: 2008-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe Sam's destiny was bigger than they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Sam stood silently in a clearing in the woods. He could feel the chill of night at his back, but it did little to cool the fierce heat of the blaze he stared into. _Dean._ It must have been at least four in the morning, but Sam had lost all track of time. _This is the second time I’ve stood in these woods and watched what was left of my family turn to dust._ His skin was red from the heat, but he didn't back away. He felt like once this was over he would never be warm again. He cried no tears - there were none left to cry. The deal was complete. Dean was dead, and Sam was alive.

 _They had come to the woods just before sunset. Dean had seemed calm. Instead of making jokes, he had spoken honestly to his brother about his feelings - about everything. They set up a protective circle and set in to wait. They both knew that the hellhounds would come._

Unable to stand any more, Sam sat down near the pyre. He knew now the finality of it, but he kept on - just watching, just trying to hold on to Dean one second longer.

 _Hours passed. They sometimes laughed, sometimes cried - but mostly they waited together, silently supporting each other through the hours, enduring together the unnatural silence of the forest. Sam's voice sounded like it belonged to another body as he finally worked up enough courage to ask – “What do I do, Dean? What do I do .. after.. after it's over?" Dean had leaned over and put both hands firmly on his brother's trembling shoulders._

Sam thought he would never forget the look in the eyes of his brother from that night. He saw sorrow, fear, and grief there - but not for Dean himself. They were for Sam.

 _"Sammy, you listen to me. You send me on like we sent Dad." Dean's eyes glistened as tears threatened to spill over at the thought of what he was asking Sam to do. "I don't want there to be any doubts for you, any false hopes. Tonight this ends. We make sure we end it, understand?" No response. Dean's grip tightened and he shook Sam - just a little. "Sammy?"_

Sam knew it had been the right thing to do. It's what any of them would have wanted. Three Winchesters had now been committed to the flames. He wondered if there would be anyone around one day to do the same for him.

 _"Yeah Dean, ok. I'll do it."_

He had wanted to ask so many more questions. He had wanted to beg Dean to run, not to leave him all alone. He wanted to tell Dean that he was a selfish bastard for making this deal in the first place. Instead he remembered what Dean had told a little frightened child a lifetime ago.

 _"When I was your age, I saw something really bad happen to my mom. And I was scared, too. But I think... my mom? My mom would have wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And maybe your dad wants you to be brave too."_

The fire was dying down now. Soon the flames would be embers, and the embers would be ashes, and Dean would be a memory. Sam bitterly reflected that after Jess and after his parents he never thought he could feel any more dead inside than he already had felt in his young life. He shook his head. _How wrong can you be._ He closed his eyes against the thought of the end, the final moment. But no matter how hard he tried to shut it away, he knew it would be with him forever.

 _Sam didn't hear anything, but Dean's head snapped up, eyes wide to look towards the edge of the circle. "What, Dean?" There was panic in Sam's voice. His hands were trembling as he reached for his brother's arm, as though to hold him back. Dean was calm and steady and his eyes held a steely resolve. Turning to his brother he said in a low, even voice, "They're here, Sammy. Let me go."_

Sam gasped as the memory overtook him. The sun was cresting over the horizon of the forest, but in his mind he only saw the blackness of the night, the look in Dean's eyes after he hugged his little brother goodbye for the final time.

 _"Sam, I'm not running. I'm not gonna go down like that. Now, they’re here for me, I don't want you to see this – let me go.”_

 _"Oh God, Dean, I'm so sorry."_

 _"Sam, it's ok - SAM, listen to me dammit. I couldn't live without you, alright? I couldn't, I wasn't strong enough. I lived my whole life for you and if I had to do it again to bring you back I would, do you hear me? No regrets! Now .. please .." His voice began to tremble just slightly at the pain he was causing his brother. When he spoke again it was barely a whisper. "Just let me go"._

 _"I love you, Dean."_

 _Cocky Harrison Ford smile. "I know."_

And Sam had. He had let him go, because Dean asked him too, because it was all that was left to do.

 _He turned away and walked a few steps, but then paused. "Stay inside the circle, Sam." And then he was gone. A few painful agonizing moments passed. Sam watched his brother's silhouette disappear into the tree line._

 _Then he heard the howl, caught a hint of movement in the brush as the invisible dogs encircled Dean. Panic gripped him. "Dean!" His ears strained for any whisper of noise, any sign to tell him if the worst was over, or if it was yet to come. There was no response. His call still echoed in the trees._

Sam rose to his feet. The earthly fire that had burned his brother's ashes was spent. He tried not to think about the otherwordly fire that now tormented his brother's soul.

 _He waited as long as he dared to wait. Finally he had to know the truth. When he found Dean, he held his breath as he approached. Glancing around the glen, he saw no sign of a struggle. Next to losing Dean, finding his body mangled had been his second worst fear._

It was a long walk back to the road. Best get a move on. _That's all I ever do, move on_. The morning dew fell softly as Sam stood lingering for one final moment, amazed at how even though his world had ended the sun still had the audacity to rise.

 _Dean was sitting quietly, cradled in the crook of a tree trunk as though he was only sleeping. Sam's heart broke as he knelt down and looked into his brother's face. Dean's eyes were closed, but there was no fear or panic in his posture. His hands were folded softly in his lap. Sam reached out to hold them in his own, and shuddered at how cold they seemed. Feeling an object, he glanced down. In Dean's hands was the amulet that Sam had given him when they were kids. Tears streaming down his face, Sam pried it gently free and placed it around his neck. It was his brother's final gift to him._

"Sam, let's go." The voice shattered the morning peacefulness and brought Sam's mind reeling back to the present. Absently he noticed that his fingers had closed around the amulet. He turned his head towards the newcomer.

"Alright, one minute. I'm coming." He took one last look at the smoldering pyre. _Here sleeps a warrior. He was my hero, my savior, my friend, and most of all, he was my big brother._ Sam took a long ragged breath, and with deliberate purpose, turned from the clearing. Ruby was waving to him from the edge of the forest. Bobby must have sent her out to look for him. Sam nodded wearily and headed out of the clearing, walked towards his new life.

He did not look back.

~*~

Sam and Ruby reached the Impala without speaking. When Sam saw her, all alone on the side of the road, black and chrome glistening in the morning sun, he thought he might never be able to breathe again. The pressure threatened to crush him. Ruby eyed him critically. "You need rest, Sam."

"I'm fine." A thought had come to him. _Surely this is some cruel joke_. He hesitated at the car door, afraid that if he touched it that it might vanish, taking just that much more of Dean away from him.

"Sam -"

"I said I'm fine." Grasping the handle, he swung into the driver’s seat. Memories flooded back. The look on Dean's face when their Dad tossed him the keys. The look on Dean's face when he first tossed Sam the keys. "Ok baby," he whispered, "just you and me now. I'm going to take care of you." Leaning over, he unlocked the passenger side door. Ruby swiftly stepped in.

"How far is it to Bobby's place?" She asked. Squinting her eyes at Sam, she gave him a hard long look. "You should let me drive. I didn't work this hard keeping you alive just so you can run off the road."

Sam actually cracked a small smile at the thought of what Dean would have said at the thought of a demon driving his car. "No, really - I'm ok. And it's around 800 miles. We should be there in about ten hours." _Think about what's next, Sam. One step at a time. Focus on your job._ "Is Bobby ready for us?"

Ruby looked thoughtful. "I think so. Before I left he was getting together the supplies we need for the trip."

"He tell you where we're going?" Reaching for the radio, Sam switched it on. He fiddled with the switches, looking for a rock station. Apparently out here there was nothing but country. _Great_.

"No, just that he thinks he may have a lead on where to find the Colt. Must be pretty heavily protected. If Lilith got her hands on it like he says, then we should be in for a fight. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, but this may just be the last thing we ever do."

"And Bela?"

"No word. Maybe she’s dead." The way she said it didn't make it sound like a bad thing. Silently Sam had to agree with her. Bela had caused them a world of trouble. Ruby rolled her eyes and glanced at the radio. "Listen Sam, I'm not much of a redneck girl."

Her eyes widened as Sam actually laughed out loud. She thought he was going to comment back, but his eyes were misty and he appeared to be remembering something.

 _Driver picks the music - shotgun shuts his cakehole. Jerk, Dean. Jerk._ Sam turned it up and just kept driving.

Several miles went by. Sam didn’t look anywhere, didn’t think of anything but the road, the feel of the Impala purring in his hands. He tried to focus on the mission. Words from the radio kept breaking through his concentration.

 _So lay me down, In that open field out on the edge of town ..._

Once they got to Bobby's place they would re-supply.

 _And know my soul is where my momma always prayed that it would go ..._

They would take salt guns and holy water, they would arm themselves with every defense they had.

 _If you're reading this..._

They would storm a demon's stronghold and take back their one and only weapon.

 _I won't be there to see the birth of your little girl..._

Sam blinked back tears, tried to fill the empty space with hate, with revenge.

 _I hope she looks like you. I hope she fights like me, and stands up for the innocent and the weak._

Unable to bear it anymore, Sam pulled the Impala over to the side of the road. Ruby looked at him with impatience in her eyes. "My brother is in Hell." There, he said it.

"I know." She met his gaze, unblinking.

"You lied to me. You never knew how to help him." He tried to put accusation into the words, but they sounded hollow. He didn't really blame her - he blamed himself.

"I had to get you to trust me. I knew you’d need me if you were going to win!" Funny, she almost sounded sorry. But she was still a demon, and he didn't care how she felt. He didn't know if she could feel anything at all.

Quietly Sam asked, "Did he know? Did he know it was all a lie?" His eyes pierced straight through Ruby. She withered under his gaze for a moment, then she looked away.

"Yes. I told him myself. After our run-in with the witches." When Ruby kept staring out the window, Sam turned the key in the ignition and brought the Impala back to life. _You know what makes it easier, Sam? This job? Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can._

If Dean could be brave then he could, too. He had to be if he was going to survive. He couldn't fight this war for hate. He couldn't even fight it for revenge. He already had his revenge, and it had meant nothing. Besides, revenge didn’t come before everything. Dean had taught him that.  
He pulled back out onto the open road. They would be at Bobby's soon. He had a war to fight, and innocent people were caught in the balance. He took a deep breath. He only had one person left to plan with. Even if she wasn't really a person.

"Well," He said, “looks like we've got work to do."

~*~

It had been three days since they arrived at Bobby's salvage yard. They planned obsessively, trying to predict every move the other side might make. Sam still had nightmares about Dean. He supposed he always would. He missed his brother so badly that sometimes he couldn't breathe, but there was always more research, always more preparations to make. The news reports kept rolling in. Accidents, fires, human deaths. The enemy's camp was strong, and they outnumbered the hunters by the thousands.

At first everyone had walked quietly around him as though they were afraid he might break. Bobby had shed a few tears himself when Sam told him what happened in the woods. He had even received a phone call from Jo, of all people, who with a broken voice told him that she was sorry and that she and Ellen were there if he ever needed a place to stay. But now the junkyard was all about survival, and time was running out for their chance to re-take the Colt by surprise.

Finally on the third day they were ready. Sam sat in silence on the porch. He had loaded everything that morning, and there was nothing left to do but wait for nightfall. Their target was less than 100 miles away, a shack in the woods where there had been several strange disappearances. While checking it out Ruby had recognized one of Lilith's top soldiers. The demon should have been at the leader's side, but instead it guarded the run down farm house.

Throughout the day demons would come and go freely, but at night it was just the guard. Their best chance would be to trap the demon and try to exorcise it for information. They had a plan, Sam just hoped it was good enough.

He looked at his watch, absently touching the amulet around his neck gently with his other hand. Ruby should have been back by now. Just as he finished the thought, he saw her approaching. "Where have you been, it's almost dark!" He noticed that she had a triumphant look on her face, but she seemed offered no information.

"Taking care of some red tape," she replied. "I thought we could use a hand tonight, that's all." Sam turned to follow her into the house, but she stopped at the front door. She placed a finger on his lips to stop him from asking her any questions. "You should wait here. Thank me later. And remember, you owe me." With that she entered the house and was gone. Sam just stood staring at the door, bewildered.  
It was just at that time that from behind him, near the front gate, someone softly called his name.

"Sammy?"

Sam felt his heart freeze. He thought if he breathed he might wake up, since clearly this was some sort of dream. He blinked at the reflection in the door. There seemed to be a shape to go along with the voice. He didn't believe, couldn't believe in case it wasn't true. His voice wasn't even a whisper. "Dean?" He heard footsteps and slowly turned around.

Dean paused halfway across the yard as though he could barley believe it himself. His eyes were bright with tears, but for the first time in a long time his face beamed with the biggest smile Sam had ever seen. Slowly he held out his arms, just enough to welcome his little brother into them as Sam bolted off the porch and nearly knocked him over. "It's ok, Sammy. It's me. I'm here."

Sam was caught between sobbing and laughing, but whatever he did he wouldn’t let go of his brother. Barely he gasped out the words, "But how? What.." He breathed in Dean's leather jacket, felt Dean's arms around him, warm and strong. Full of life. "Is this real?"

Dean wiped his tears away with one hand, and struggled to hold Sam back with the other. Finally they looked each other full in the eye. Sam looked just like a little kid at Christmas. Dean laughed. "Yeah. It's real, Sam."

"But how, Dean? What about the deal? What ...." Sam looked momentarily sick.

"What about your b.... I torched you man, just like you told me too!"

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, I noticed. Dammit, Sam - those were my favorite jeans."

"Dean! Tell me what's going on!" Sam tried to be stern, but he was laughing. Even if this was some cruel joke, he didn't care. He'd never been this relieved in his entire life. He just kept holding on to Dean's arm, relishing the solidity of it.

Dean smiled. "I guess the Trickster owed our demon friend a favor. Anyway the deal's off. I died, I went where I was supposed to go and I paid up my end of the bargain. Trickster just gave me a continue, that's all. Supernatural Mortal Kombat." Sam's eyes were huge with surprise and disbelief.

"But he killed you! All those times! To make me suffer! Why would he agree to help us now?"

Dean slapped him on the shoulder and started walking towards the house. "Hey, what can I say? The guy likes me."

Sam shook his head in amazement. They had reached the door together, but they paused before going in. Sam had to say something, he just didn't know what.

Dean said it first. "Look Sammy - I'm sorry." His voice was strong and there was sincerity in his eyes. "I'm sorry about the deal and everything that it put you through. But I'm not sorry I did it. I'm glad it panned out," he laughed, "believe me I'm glad about that, but listen - you're my brother, and I love you. And I'm never, _ever_ going to leave you again. That's a promise."

Sam sighed a sigh of relief. It would take time for him to forget, but for now, the horrors of the last year seemed to be erased. What else was there to say? He reached up and unclasped the amulet. He held it out to his brother.

"Then you'll need this back. I gave it to you, and it's yours." Dean nodded wordlessly and reached out to accept it. Sam grinned. "Oh, one last thing, Dean? I'm keeping the car keys."

Dean smiled. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam reached for the door handle. They walked into the living room. Bobby and Ruby were waiting for them. Bobby shook his head, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Well Bobby," Sam said, "Dean's better, and we're back in it now - so tell us what you've got."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam Winchester fidgeted in the passenger's seat of the Impala. He could practically feel the shifts as his emotions ranged from relieved and happy to terrified and back in split seconds. Dean didn't seem to be having the same trouble, in fact he looked positively pleased as he guided his baby down the road. At the sound of Sam's restlessness he broke eye contact with the road long enough to throw Sam a worried look. “Dude. Calm _down_.”

“Sorry,” Sam responded quickly. “I just ... man, I can't get my head together. I wish we had more time, you know?”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know. Just try to focus. Even with Bobby and Ruby in on this one, it's gonna be tough, you know that.”

Sam rubbed his forehead distractedly. There had been no real reason to delay their trip once Dean miraculously returned from the dead - but Dean was back from the _dead_ , dammit, and if Sam could have found a cave in the Alps that was safe from demonic hordes, he would have dragged his brother into retirement right then and there. Instead, they were driving right into battle. He snorted, shaking his head in disgust. “Man, we should be headin' for the hills.” Dean just laughed. Sam's eyes narrowed at the sound. 'What's so funny?'

Dean's smile held, but his eyes were distant with memory. When he spoke, his voice was softly reminiscent. “You sound like how I felt,” he said. Seeing Sam's slightly confused look, he added, “Before the Gate. Man, I just wanted to throw you in a nice safe rubber room.”

 _Oh. Then_. Sam nodded in understanding. He still wasn't used to this Dean, the one it didn't take a crowbar to open up.

Dean's eyes were still on the road, but his voice was serious as he spoke. “I practically begged you to take it easy, but no matter what I said you wouldn't give. Believe me Sam - I know exactly how you feel. But tonight we need to be hunters.” He threw Sam a bracing glance. “Ok?”

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat with some difficulty. He breathed a long sigh, trying to calm his nerves. When he responded it was with a steady determination. “Yeah Dean, I know. I'm with you one hundred percent. Let's do this.”

~*~

“Sammy, wake up. We're here.” A gentle hand shook his arm. Sam's eyes snapped open, his body instantly shaking off sleep in recognition of just what those words meant. Dean was already climbing out of the car, and he hurried to follow suit. The Impala was parked as far back into the woods as Dean could get her, and as Sam closed the door and headed for the trunk Bobby's truck pulled up beside them.

Everything in the trunk had been pre-packed. Sam and Ruby had loaded everything that morning. That morning, when there were only three of them. They had already decided that Dean would take the extra pack that Ruby had insisted on prepping even though she couldn't get near the contents.

Sam hadn't asked her, but he suspected that she had known that Dean would be joining them all along. He didn't know why she had kept him in the dark, but when he had turned and seen Dean standing there, alive, he had decided that he didn't care. She had proved herself over and over. Demon or not, Sam was genuinely starting to trust her.

Dean thrust a pack towards Sam, grunting 'here,' distractedly. Sam took it. He already knew the contents. One large bag of rock salt, 30 pounds. One two-liter of Holy water, a set of rosary beads, various odds and ends, and a neat, pre-printed copy containing several exorcisms. Sam smiled grimly to himself. He had _those_ memorized. Finally. Swinging the backpack's strap over his shoulder, he reached down for his sawed-off shotgun. He broke the barrel, loaded the gun quickly, and pocketed as many extra rock salt rounds as he could. Next to him, Dean was doing the same.

Last, he tucked a long, curved blade into the sheath at his side and his pistol, safety on, into his waistband at the small of his back. When he looked up he was surprised to see Dean grinning widely as he nestled his own shotgun into the space between his shoulders and his pack. “What?”

“Dude, I feel like Bruce Willis in Die Hard.” Dean quipped.

Sam knitted his eyebrows in mock frustration. “Crap. I knew it. We forgot something.” He stated.

Dean looked taken aback. “What?”

Sam let a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Duct tape!” He winced when Dean cuffed him soundly on the back of the head.

“Shut up, that's not funny.” But Dean's green eyes sparkled with anticipation. It was always like this before a hunt. The weird mix of tension and fear contrasted sharply with excitement, adrenaline barely restrained begging to be set free.

“You boys ready?” Bobby's voice cut through the quiet night of the forest as he approached. His own pack was securely in place, and he carried a rifle in one hand and he was placing a possession charm around his neck with the other.

“Yes, Sir.” They responded in unison. Bobby watched the slight, automatic straightening of their shoulders, heard the crispness in their instant response, noted the tautness of their bodies. _Soldiers_ , he thought. _Ready for battle._ It was a battle he'd give anything not to lead them into.

He pushed away the desire to give in to the mild burning behind his eyelids. _I'm gettin’ way too damn old for this._ He felt his heart swell with pride at the sight of the two men standing before him. He let his eyes pour cautiously over Sam, searching out his mental state.

The last three days had been hell for both boys, in more ways than one. But Sam had never cried, never broken down. Bobby had watched Sam attack this mission with an intensity that, frankly, made him incredibly uncomfortable. It wasn't as if Sam wasn't hurting, he just ... wasn't anything. There were times when the kid had just seemed _empty_ , and Bobby had found that much harder to deal with than if the young man would just shed some tears. Then, that afternoon, Dean had returned and within minutes, Bobby saw the light and life come back into Sam's eyes so bright it was like nothing would ever put the fire out.

They were all happy to have Dean back, but Bobby needed to be sure Sam was focused, ready. Looking at him now, Bobby knew. Sam's hazel eyes burned with unrestrained hunger. He held the shotgun in his hands as though it was a part of him. Sam was a hunter, born and bred. He was ready.

Sam suddenly realized that both of his companions were staring at him. It didn't take a genius to realize what they were thinking. Even though he was a genius. “Guys, really, I've got this. Quit looking at me like I'm made of glass.” Bobby just nodded his acceptance, but Dean tried without much success to wipe the sheepish, embarrassed look off his face. Sam just shook his head and turned, closing the trunk. “Anyone seen Ruby yet?”

“She'll show,” Bobby grunted. “Said she'd meet us closer in. Now move your asses, ‘s almost midnight.” Without further comment Bobby began trudging through the woods.

After exchanging one last _You good? I'm good. Well… good, let's go..._ look, the Winchesters followed the elder hunter into the night.

~*~

“Tut-tut, looks like rain,” Dean whispered as they inched closer to the edge of the farm property. The simple trail leading them was little more than a horse cart path, and it led to a dilapidated, long abandoned A-frame cabin with a splintered livestock fence that circled an overgrown pasture in the back. Sam frowned.

“It wasn't this windy when we started out, was it?” He asked, shifting a curious eyebrow towards his brother.

“No, definitely not.” Dean replied. He turned to Bobby, questions in his dark eyes. “Think they're onto us?”

It was all the three hunters could do not to jump out of their skin when from out of seemingly nowhere Ruby answered, “Well, they will be if you don't all _shut up_.”

“How do you _do_ that?” Sam hissed. “Dean, how does she do that?” Dean stifled a grin behind his palm, pretending to scratch his nose instead of answering.

“Cute,” Ruby responded flatly. “Are we ready to go fight big scary monsters now, or do we want to sit around and talk about the weather?”

“C'mon Sam, stop picking on the _girl_.” Dean elbowed him soundly in the ribs. Sam had noticed how Dean's cautious disdain for Ruby had all but disappeared since his remarkable return. Even though it seemed uncharacteristic of his brother, Sam hadn't mentioned it. He just assumed that the overwhelming gratefulness he felt was what Dean must be feeling, too. He couldn't help but respond with a smirk at the familiar sound of Dean being so ... _Dean._

“Would you two stop gabbin' like a pack of cheerleaders for one second, I'd like to get started with the plan!” Bobby said, dropping his pack to the ground and unzipping the main pocket. He watched as the boys began to work. Without a word, Dean pulled Sam's bag of salt loose and Sam did the same for Dean. The shotgun on Dean's back stayed in place, and with a final meaningful look at each other, the hunters all separated, each heading for a different corner of the house.

Ruby walked with Dean. “Tell me again why this is a good idea?” Dean asked her. The plan was simple. Place a circle - a thick one - around the entire cabin, as close as they could get to the walls without alerting the sentinel inside. Once they had the demon trapped, they could launch an interrogation. Hopefully. “How do we even know which one is in there?” Dean sighed. _There's an awful lot of if coming off this plan._

“I can sense him.” Ruby answered cryptically. “Besides, Lilith isn't in there, and that's the important thing.” She spared a glance at Dean, mostly concentrating on trying to be quiet as they crept through the overgrown lawn towards their spot on the circle's perimeter. “If she shows up,” she whispered, “we’re all dead unless this circle holds. Once she finds out we've been here, we need to be long, _long_ gone.” Dean frowned. It didn't escape him that she hadn't answered the first part of his question.

"And she looks like a kid, right?"

"She usually possesses a child, yes." Ruby whispered. They reached the front edge of the cabin. Ruby stood in between Dean and the wooden frame and Dean began to pour a thick, even line of salt around the front face of the structure. They both crouched low as they rounded the corner towards the sagging front porch. There was a dim light flickering deep inside the one-room interior, and Dean could hear the faint sound of softly falling footsteps. He froze, but the sound did not approach the door.

He held his breath just the same until he rounded the second corner. Ruby crept along with him, watching his back until halfway down the last wall, he ran into Sam. Before the line connected, Sam stopped pouring his salt. Looking up, Dean noticed that there was real worry brewing in Sam's eyes. Sam motioned to Ruby, then pointed to the outside of the circle. She shook her head ‘no’. Tossing her an exasperated look, he grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him back from the house until they reached the worn out pasture fence. Ruby followed close behind them, looking furious. Dean let Sam pull him into a crouch in the tall grass before throwing off his arm and growling, "What's wrong with you?" as quietly as possible.

"Dean. Something's wrong, we shouldn't go in there."

"How do you know?"

Sam grimaced, reached up and grabbed the front of Dean's jacket. Pulling him face to face, he whispered, "Dean, listen to me. This wind is not right. It's not natural. The forecast said it would be clear, and..."

"Ok! I get it, alright? What do we do?" Dean interrupted as he pushed back, breaking Sam's grip but finally looking Sam in the eyes. Sam had no response, and instead turned to Ruby for help.

Dean wasn't reassured that Ruby's face mirrored Sam's concern. "One of Lilith's powers is controlling the wind," she told Dean. Dean tensed.

"Can you tell if she's around?"

Ruby looked thoughtful. "I can't sense her. It doesn't mean she isn't blocking me." Dean looked back to Sam.

"So, what do we do?" In his periphery, Dean saw Bobby lean cautiously around the back corner of the house, look for them, and then decide to stay put. "Sam?"

Sam bit his lip. This was wrong, and he knew it, but he also knew that if Lilith was in the woods - in the state, for that matter, that their only possible hope for survival would be to get inside the circle. Best case scenario, they would be able to find the Colt as well. Not that Sam really thought anything in his life could ever win the best-case scenario award. He made his choice.

"We'd never make it back to the car in time. It's safer in the circle. Just - be careful, alright?" He didn't say it, but he knew Dean would understand it anyway. _I can't lose you again._

Dean nodded, his face a mask of readiness but his eyes reflecting Sam's own thoughts. "Ok, let's go."

They crept back towards the gap in the circle, meeting Bobby there. Bobby didn't ask what they had been talking about, he simply hefted his shotgun and gestured towards the gap, then Ruby, then the front of the cabin. Ruby stepped carefully over the line. Sam took out what was left of his bag of salt. He reached down to close the circle, but pulled up short. He looked up at Ruby, concern in his eyes. _Are you sure about this? You'll be trapped._ Ruby nodded, giving him her consent. He closed the circle.

The foursome crept quietly towards the sagging front porch. Almost unconsciously Dean and Ruby took the lead, crouching below but to the front of Sam, putting Sam firmly in the middle and leaving Bobby to take up the rear. Dean leveled his shotgun, and he felt rather than heard Sam do the same, covering him from behind.

They were almost to the door when, to Dean's surprise, it swung wide open. It took his eyes a moment to adjust. The interior was a single room, soft beams of moonlight spilling in through cracks in the old roof. There were fragmented pieces of furniture scattered around the edges, and one dresser near the entrance held a few flickering candles. From the shadows towards the back of the room, Dean could just make out the outline of a man. He was facing the window, head raised to the light of the moon outside. Without turning around, he spoke.

"Sam. Dean." His voice was low and dangerous. Dean tried to shake the uneasy feeling the sound caused. Suddenly he knew what it was to enter into the lion's den. The man straightened and gave a satisfied chuckle. "And Ruby, what a pleasant surprise. I'd heard you've been ... lurking." He turned then, regarding the hunters openly. Ruby held her ground, but she stopped advancing immediately, throwing her hand out to her side like she wanted to stop Sam from moving any closer.

Dean was just about to reply when he heard Sam hiss. "What are you?" He growled, and Dean had never heard his voice sound so full of insistent anger. Not since the Gate. Not since Jake. Dean blinked in surprise as he got a closer look.

The demon’s eyes were fire. Dean saw beneath the illusion of humanity, and while it still seemed to have a solid body, the flames licked just underneath the surface of its skin, writhing and twisting eerily in the dim light. The demon just laughed in response, and the deep, dangerous sound had a new element; a dry crackling noise that reminded Dean of things he never wanted to hear or feel again.

Dean could feel Sam easing the Holy water out of his pack with one hand, using Dean's body to shield his actions from the demon’s view.

"Sam, I'm offended," the demon replied. "At least your brother should remember 'what' I am. He got to meet some of my friends, didn't you Dean?" Again, the dry, rasping laughter filled the cabin. Dean shook his head defiantly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He spat. The shotgun shook in his hands, though, and flashes of memories that seemed like a dream played across his mind.

The demon narrowed his flame-filled eyes. "A shame you didn't feel like staying around." Dean could feel Sam's trembling hand finally pull the Holy water free. "I'm sure they thought they had you trapped. A mistake I'm sure they won't. Repeat. Again." He let every word fall like a judge's gavel, each syllable conveying the imminent threat of revenge.

 _Enough with the chit-chat_. Dean smiled. "We sure trapped you easy enough." He could feel the tension rising in the air, and he knew it was almost time to make a move.

The fire demon cocked his head to the side. "Now, that's interesting. What, exactly, is your definition of trapped? Because the way I see it, you're stuck in here with me."

Everyone reacted at once. Responding instantly to Sam's cry Dean crouched low and fired, sending his rounds into the heart of the monster just as Sam sent his into its fiery eyes. The demon recoiled, but it recovered quickly and it lunged forward with inhuman speed. Dean and Ruby split, diving to either side of the door to make room as Sam broke the shotgun with his right arm and swung the bottle of Holy water towards the monster with his left.

The water arced out towards its target, but before it made contact the demon slammed on the breaks, raising a hand as if to ward it off. Dean watched in horror, like he was a mile away, as a pillar of flame erupted from the monster's hand and arced up the glittering stream. It disintegrated the water instantly, but that was the least of their problems. Dean heard himself scream. "Sam!"

Sam was overbalanced. The fire raced up the bottle to his arm, and before he had a chance to pull back the demon was there. It grabbed his wrist with a strength that seemed impossible. Twisting his grip, the monster pivoted and threw Sam, hard. Not stopping to see where he had landed, it took the follow-up round of rock salt in the chest and dove after Bobby next.

Sam hit the back cabin wall at the same time as Bobby was ejected forcefully out the front door. The sickening crack his head made when he came to a stop was something Dean couldn't afford to think about. He fell limply to the floor. He didn't get up. Howling in rage, the demon turned back to the two enemies that were left. He screamed, and a rush of power escaped him. It caught Ruby halfway between the door and Sam; it threw her to the ground.

"You wanna fight? Come and get it you creepy bastard!" Dean yelled, pumping another round into the monster's smoking hulk. He smiled in satisfaction as the demon screamed in pain. _Stay away from Sam, I swear to God..._ "Who are you? Where's the Colt?" He demanded, already knowing that he wouldn't be getting an answer, but desperate to keep the monster's attention away from his wounded brother.

"You Winchesters," the monster sneered as he gasped for air, "are so _predictable_." A small satisfied smirk played over his features. "Dean. Did you really think that coming back from the dead meant that everything was going to be ok? Did you really think, " he laughed, "that anything you do is going to save your brother?" He paused, taking in the look of pure rage on Dean's face. "She wants him, you know. And she always gets what she wants." He shook his head in mock pity. "She never had the Colt. This, like everything else, was all about Sam. She used the gun to lure you out of the woodwork." His narrowed eyes gleamed as he drove the accusation home. "And you were kind enough to bring him right to our door. Dean. Sometimes I think you'll never learn."

Dean's blood turned to ice in his veins, but he pushed the thought aside. _Demons lie_. His gaze flicked to Sam's unconscious frame, checking him. Ruby had climbed to her feet. Dean held his ground. If he could just keep the demon distracted long enough ... "You lying son of a bitch," He spat coldly, "You'll _never_ get Sam. None of you will." Ruby crept slowly across the room until she was standing in between the demon and Sam. Slowly, she pulled her knife free of the sheath at her side, turning the handle backwards to hold the blade against her wrist.

Sam picked just that moment to come to, making a loud gasping noise in the process. The demon spun, throwing out his hands towards Ruby and unleashing a wave of fire. Ruby was already chanting a counter spell, and Dean watched in awe as the shimmering rush of flame seemed to hit an invisible wall. He could feel the demon’s telekinetic power reaching for him, trying to grab him and hold him fast. He pushed back, struggling to reach the demon’s side.

Sam cringed against the wall, hauling himself into a sitting position. He couldn't see Dean; all he could see was flames. "Dean!" Terror pulled at his senses, his head swam from his injuries. Smoke crowded in around him, and his lungs began to burn as he tried to breathe.

"Sam, start it!" came the reply. Sam could barely hear over the roar of the inferno. Sam shook his head in confusion.

"Ruby...?" He saw her shift, the force of the fire sliding her backwards across the floor, saw her shoulders strain against the power. She nodded her head in response to his unspoken question, not willing to stop her own incantation.

Dean's voice cried out over the roar. "Do it, Sam, do it now!" Sam had already started to chant.

~*~

The first thing Bobby noticed when he woke up was that it seemed a lot colder than it had been before, followed closely by the feeling of a sharp pain behind his eyes. The second thing was that even though it was still dark out, there was a bright light shining out of all of the cabin's windows, and he could smell the wood beginning to burn. Standing as quickly as he could, he ran for the cabin door. Smoke was pouring out from underneath the door. He kicked it, hard, but the door wouldn't budge. _Bastard's holdin it shut_. He could hear faintly the sound of the boys yelling over the crackle of the flames.

Frantic to reach them, he backed down the porch and rounded the corner. He was searching for something to break the window with when the attack came.

Bobby was flying, flying through the air towards the splintered pasture fence, and right before his head made contact he realized he had stepped outside the protection of the circle, and he had forgotten that their enemies were just as likely to be outside as inside, and just as his world went black he wondered how he could have been so stupid.


	3. Chapter 3

Outside, the wind was reaching gale force as inside the three hunters fought for their lives. Dean was inching towards the demon slowly, fighting against the power surge that resonated between them. Ruby was holding her ground in between the demon and Sam, hands outstretched, still maintaining her ward to hold off the wall of fire. Sam was struggling to remain conscious as he sagged limply against the wall, chanting the exorcism. The demon began to cry out as the words hit home, but Sam could also feel Ruby's enchantment begin to break as she tried to maintain her hold on _her_ host.

Then Dean was there. An unspoken look passed between them, and Ruby responded instantly by dropping her protective spell and throwing Dean her knife. The fireball lanced outward from the demon’s outstretched hands, catching Ruby full force and launching her backwards into Sam. Dean caught the knife with perfect accuracy and lodged it firmly in the demon’s heart. The killing lightning took hold, but Dean had no time to celebrate as the explosion the demon had launched hit the wall.

Wood, plaster and furniture fragments flew everywhere. Dean couldn't see Sam, all he could see was the smoke and the flame. He ripped the knife loose and plowed into the fog. “Sammy!” He called for his brother but the shockwave had been deafening. “SAM!” He searched for movement in the rubble, trying to dig through it as best he could. Under a large section of drywall, he saw a few strands of long blond hair. “Ruby? Ruby!” He began to tear away the sections, slowly revealing Ruby's body. It was almost severed in half.

“ _Dammit_!” She was shielding Sam, and lodged firmly at the base of her torso, a splintered beam had pinned them both together. “Sam, talk to me. Sam!” Dean reached below the demon and felt for his baby brother's pulse. It was faint, but it was still there. His hands were sticky with Sam and Ruby's blood as he tried to feel where the beam connected them. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding as his hand felt through to the floor. The beam had lanced across Sam's ribs and pinned his right arm. The ribs were probably broken, but the arm was where the blood was coming from. Dean knew that the beam may have hit Sam's artery, but they had no choice. It had to be removed.

Pulling with all his strength, he pried the beam away from the floor. He rolled Ruby and the beam gently out of the way. He might be sorry about her later, but right now his first concern was for his brother. Sam's eyes fluttered open at the new pain. They quickly sought out his brother's face. “It's ok, demon’s dead. Just lay still for a second.” Dean instructed. Sam gave a brief nod. “Blink once for yes. Can you breathe alright?” Yes. “Can you move your arm?” Two blinks. No. "Alright, just hold on."

Dean stepped away, eyes casting frantically around the room for something he could use to slow the bleeding. Ruby's jacket hung from her shoulders in jagged strips. Grimacing, Dean knelt down beside her still form and began to rip a section off.

Without warning, her hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Dean nearly jumped out of his skin but instead he grabbed her hand back, squeezing it as best he could to let her know he was there. Her eyes snapped open, revealing the solid black of possession. “I .. have to .... AHH., go ..” She gasped. As she struggled, black demon smoke began to slowly exit, pouring out of her eyes and ears. “Sam ... “

“I've got Sam, he's ok.” Dean paused, not knowing for sure what he should say. “You saved him.” Her grip relaxed.

“Lose my knife,“ she whispered so softly that Dean could hardly hear, “and ... I'll kill you ...” Dean smiled. Ruby's body exhaled, relaxing into the floor. The rest of the smoke came pouring out forcefully. Instead of exiting, however, the cloud circled the room, frantically trying to escape. Dean glanced at the jacket, then at Sam. Sam was stirring, slowly standing to his feet. Their eyes met.

“Dean, the circle!”

“Are you ok?”

“Dean, go!”

“Crap!” Dean ran for the front door and threw it open. The wind outside was strong, and he had to fight against it as he ran down the porch steps to the lawn. He dropped to his knees and began scooping the salt away, trying to make a hole big enough to break the barrier. The circle was thick and had settled deep into the grass. He didn't see the break, but he felt the _whoosh_ from behind him and saw the smoke streak off into the sky. Trying not to think about the hapless victim that would encounter Ruby next, he reached out to replace the salt.

Before his hand reached the ground, a large gust of wind pushed him roughly backwards. Suddenly it was everywhere, and it seemed to be concentrating directly _towards_ him. As he fought to right himself, he heard the sound of high, child-like laughter on the wind. _No, no no no no...._ The wind whipped through the grass, pushing the precious salt away. There was a break in the circle, and Dean knew he couldn't fix it in time. At the edge of the clearing, unaffected by the wind, there stood a pale little girl with long dark hair and porcelain white eyes. _Lilith_.

Dean knew all he needed to know. He bolted for the house. He knew that their only chance of survival was inside, dropped somewhere in the wreckage between a very wounded Sam and Ruby's former body.

He cleared the stairs without ever hitting a step and was almost inside the door when he felt the force of an explosion slam into him. He fell roughly to the cabin floor, and as flames erupted all around the room he felt the all-too familiar sensation of invisible chains wrap around him. He couldn't see Sam, and he couldn't move his body. He was too late.

“Running away, Dean?” the little girl hissed. “I don't think so. Not this time.”

Dean gasped as he struggled against his invisible bonds. As the child-demon stood over him, he was transported to a night a lifetime ago; a hunting cabin in the woods, seeing yellow eyes as he felt his own death take him like an oncoming train. Lilith's small hand began to glow, opaque eyes gleaming nonetheless with malice and rage. Dean felt his skin begin to heat, the invisible fire reaching out for him to turn him to ash.

“Stop!” Sam's voice was barely a whisper, but even over the roar of the flames, Dean and the demon holding him captive both heard it. Unbelievably, Sam was still standing, the blast having torn apart what was left of the wall behind him.

“Sam, no –“ Dean gasped again as the heat continued to build, struggling to stay awake against the pain. _Have to stop Sam, Sam can't be here, it's not safe .._ “SAM, don't!”

Sam's right arm was hanging uselessly against his side, blood from his wounds spilling onto the floor rapidly, too rapidly. His strength was failing. He would have to end this now or the outcome would depend solely on Lilith. “Please - Stop.” He trembled, fighting to stay on his feet.

Lilith paused. 'Why would I do that, Sam?' Her voice was calm, almost sweet even as she regarded Sam like a child.

Dean prayed, prayed like he never had before that Sam knew what he was doing. But the burning sensations had stopped, at least for now. He still couldn't move from the floor.

“Because it's me you want. Take me. I won't fight anymore. Just let him go, please. He has nothing to do with this.” Across the room, Sam kept his hazel eyes locked onto the demon’s pale ones, ignoring Dean's gasps of protest. As he looked at her, he could feel the fire redirecting towards him instead. He decided to push it. Dropping to his knees, he whispered, “Go ahead, kill me. Isn't that what you want? I'm right here, just do it.” He was tired, so tired, and there was just so much blood ...

The demon’s pale childlike face split into an eerie grin. She turned away from Dean completely, raising her palm to Sam instead.

“Sammy!” Dean screamed, writhing with an agony that far surpassed physical pain as he watched the fight go out of his baby brother's eyes. “Don't do this, just - don't!” _After everything, after I gave my life for you, please, don't throw it away. Not for me ..._ His eyes wandered uselessly around the floor, trying to find something, anything that might reverse the situation.

Suddenly he saw what Sam had seen. Underneath the rubble, not four feet away, the glittering hilt of Ruby's knife was barely visible, the smoke and ash swirling around it like a beacon.

But Dean couldn't move. Lilith was still holding him down.

The floor underneath Sam began to blacken, heating rapidly as Lilith brought the flames to bear. Smoke began rising towards the wounded hunter, choking him. Sam began to cough, the pain in his side unbearable as the motions put even more pressure on his shattered ribs. Flames erupted around Sam, encircling him but not moving towards his broken frame. And then _she_ was there, there with him in the fire, holding out her hand to him to burn him alive.

~*~

Dean saw Lilith disappear into the circle, he could hear Sam's agonized gasps for air. His desperation increased a hundredfold as he fought with every shred of strength he had to break the psychic link.

~*~

Inside the circle, Sam could only hope dimly through the haze that Dean would understand, that he would escape as he felt the demon’s power grip him firmly. He closed his eyes and waited for the fire, the terrible purging fire that would end his miserable life.

But the fire never came. Instead he felt his body being raised up through the air, as if by a strong pair of hands, and the invisible power stood him upright and locked him securely into place. The words seemed to come from miles away as he heard the demon speak.

“No, Sam.” She said. Her voice was changing. It was becoming older, more mature. She took a step towards his trembling form. “I'm not here to kill you.” _Shock. Panic._ “I never was, Sam.” As she moved towards him, she began to change, seamlessly seeming to grow into an older child, then a young girl, and when she stopped in front of Sam she was a woman. She reached out her hand and set it gently on his face. He tried to flinch away, but her opaque eyes pinned him in place. His very soul recoiled at her unwanted touch.

“Why?” He clipped out the word, such a small word but with such weight behind it, needing to know her meaning.

~*~

Outside the circle, Dean thought he could feel the demon’s grip loosen. Just a little. Straining, he tried to move his hand for the knife. It felt like moving through a cement wall, but he was moving. Slowly he began to reach.

~*~

Sam could no longer feel the heat, no longer smell the smoke. Instead this thing, this - _woman_ clouded his vision, dangerously beautiful but terrible to behold, still holding up her glowing palm, still holding his life and the life of his brother in her hands. “Because, Sam. I've been trying to reach you. I want you to remember who you are. Who you were _born_ to be,” she crooned softly, stroking his shoulder, his shattered side. His bleeding stopped. _What the..?_ His _pain_ stopped. Sam's eyes widened in horror.

“Go to Hell,” he spat out. “You don't know anything about me.” He held his breath as she touched him, wishing she would just end it. _Dean, I hope this is working for you, man come on, I need you ..._ “What are you doing to me?”

“Oh, but I have, Sam. I have been to Hell ...”she leaned in close, so close that he could smell the scent of her, all brimstone and flame, and her lips brushed his neck softly as she whispered, “and so have you.” She raised her glowing palm to his neck, pulling him into her embrace. The white-hot fire blossomed down his spine, he screamed against the molten touch of her. “Remember, Sam.” she breathed, and she pulled him close.

~*~

Dean was almost to the knife, muscles straining with every inch, sweat pouring down his face when he heard Sam begin to scream. “No, no no no ... “He reached for the hilt, helplessly watching his fingers tremble against the invisible hold. “Oh, COME ON!”

~*~

Sam was burning, burning alive, he was sure of it. Locked into an invisible embrace, flashes of memories flooded across his awareness like a tidal wave.

 _Mary, walking and talking with his father. Happy, full of life._ Mary running to the nursery. _Dean’s first steps.._ The man, the demon with the yellow eyes turning to look her full in the face. _Sam being born._ She recognized him. “It's you!” _John and Dean holding Sam for the first time._ Her body rising to the ceiling, feeling the heat build in the nursery, looking down at Sam, at her precious Sam one last time ..

Sam was gasping for air, drowning in the overload, pain flooding through his body as he tried to make sense of the images, and one by one they slowed until he realized that the memories couldn't possibly be his. _The Demon stood over the cradle, dripping blood into the baby's mouth. This time Sam heard as he mouthed the words, “And so you will live again, my Prince”_

Sam's eyes snapped open, but all he could see was the white orbs of the demon in front of him. “What did he do to me?”

“Don't ask questions, Sam. Just _see_. I have come to show you the truth.” Once again the surge of light, the white hot pain. The familiar pain of a vision. It overtook Sam, it was a pain that he had almost forgotten. He gasped and his body tried to drop him to his knees, but he was still held in Lilith's invisible grip. The flashes of the vision began to race through his subconscious, pain intensifying and then suddenly he was there. As he accessed the vision and the picture became clear, the crippling pain faded away.

 _Demons. Demons over a fallen warrior, centuries before. Lilith is there and she weeps, placing her hand on the dead creature's chest, resting his head in her lap as she strokes his hair. Cutting through the crowd a man approaches. No, not a man, but another demon. Azazel. Sam watches, helpless, as the Yellow-Eyed Demon approaches Lilith. “Do not fear, my Queen. We can resurrect him” He reaches for her hand and, speaking an incantation, places it over the fallen demon’s heart. “Receive his Power, my Queen.”_

 _Lilith just shakes her head. “I can't ...” her voice almost sounds small._

 _“You must. Take his power, and with it his memories. Keep them safe until the time is right.” Finally, Lilith nods. As if on cue, her palm begins to glow. She cries out as the power engulfs her, and the other demons shy away from the raw heat, from the ravaging flames._

 _It is done and the demon’s body lays still, more still than even simple death had caused it to be. There is no presence there anymore, he is gone. Lilith stands raggedly and in one single sweep exits the chamber, leaving the Yellow-Eyed Demon behind._

Sam came rocketing out of the vision with the force of a drowning person clearing the surface for air. His mind reeled with what he had seen. He was beginning to understand, but he wouldn't - no, _couldn't_ accept what this _monster_ was trying to tell him. Lilith's glowing palm shifted down to rest over Sam's frantically beating heart. She leaned into him again, burying her head in the crook of his neck, running her other hand over his freshly healed wounds.

Her voice held ancient power as she sighed, “It is time, time for you to take back what is yours.” Sam's attempted scream was drowned out almost instantly as the glow overtook him. He felt the fire, but it wasn't _on_ him, it was flowing _through_ him. He felt all the cold in his body wash away. He felt like all of his questions about why he was the chosen one were being answered in a way that he could not escape. His mother, Jess - everyone that had died, every experience he had ever had, had all been orchestrated from the very start by this creature's perfect will.

Lilith stood back and watched as the transfer began to take place, her face glowing with wild ecstasy. Her long hair blew in the dark wind, her face was luminous and for the first time, he noticed how _beautiful_ she was.

“Awaken, my love,” she cried, “ _Awaken_ \- _Samael_.”

~*~

Sam was screaming, Sam was screaming and as Dean's fingers closed around the hilt of the knife there was a sudden surge in the room; it felt like light, like fire - it felt like _power_ and as it washed over him, suddenly he was free. Adrenaline fueling his spent muscles, he leapt to his feet and turned to face the fiery circle.

Only the circle wasn't there. In the center of where it should have been, in place of the little girl there stood a woman. A woman with wild white eyes and a satisfied, almost lustful smile on her face. Dean froze in his tracks, unsure of what to do next.

Because behind demon woman, holding her in his arms, was Sam. His skin was pale, but as Dean assessed the damage he was shocked to see that he could find no wounds, no scars or blood anywhere on his brother's body. Something wasn't right, something was _very_ wrong. He took a quiet step towards the pair, hoping beyond hope that the woman hadn’t noticed him yet.

Sam's head snapped up, looking over Lilith's shoulder as he cradled her in his arms. “Stop, Dean.” His voice was strong, _commanding_. Dean felt his body halt, and to his surprise he felt himself slipping into the invisible grip once more. But this time the power had not come from Lilith. It had come from Sam.

“Sammy, what's going on?” He tried to keep the panic out of his voice as he noticed the protective posture in Sam's body, the darkness in his voice. Sam's eyes met Dean's, and the elder brother's blood ran cold at what he saw. Sam's eyes were clouded over with a thick white haze, standing out oddly against his too pale skin. Like a demon. Like _her_.

The man who wasn't Sam answered in a sad voice. “I'm sorry, Dean. I can't let you hurt her.” He walked around the pale woman until he stood in between them, palm angled slightly in Dean's direction. His face had a look of wonder as he channeled his newfound powers. Reaching out with his mind, he found that he could feel _everything_.

Terror and fear, anger and pure hatred for Lilith were rolling off of his brother in waves, sending shock after shock into his awareness. A part of him - some small part - felt the bitterness of loss, the guilt for the choice he had made. “Dean.” The hunter would not look him in the eyes. “Dean, I don't expect you to understand.”

“That's the understatement of the century!” Dean growled as he glared at Lilith, perching behind Sam as if she owned him. “Talk to me man, what's up with you?” His voice sounded dark and angry, but Sam could feel the desperation behind the words. He knew Dean was terrified - terrified that he had failed, that he hadn't protected him ... and that he was about to leave him all alone.

He knew Dean's fears were justified. He could feel the power of his past life overrunning his soul. Samael was taking over. There was no fighting it. It wasn't wrong, it wasn't a tragedy - it just was. _He_ just was. He remembered some things. He remembered falling from the Heavens, taking Lilith as his bride. He remembered his children fighting in a war against humanity. Every fiber of his being longed to rejoin that war. He had not survived, but she had, and he would take her once again. There would be _new_ children. An army. But some weak and feeble part of him was refusing to move from that spot without making sure that Dean was alright.

“Dean, you saved my life. You fulfilled your purpose. You protected me through everything - everything! Don't be afraid. I'm finally who I was born to be, Dean - don't you see?” He pleaded across the void between them. “There is no good and evil, Dean! This war - it's about putting things right! My family deserves better!”

“Sammy, please ...” Dean breathed. “Stop this. _I'm_ your family. Come with me. We can still fight this together. We can still win!”

“I'm sorry, I can't.” He shook his head sadly. “You’ll lose, Dean. You are the bravest warrior I've ever met. But you'll lose. It's my _destiny_ to rule this world, Dean. If you want out, I won't stop you. But believe me - if you come up against me and mine,” he paused, drawing a shaky breath and then forcing out the words as coldly as he could, “I may not be able to protect you.”

Dean couldn't believe the words he was hearing as the man that had once been his brother turned away from him, pulling Lilith along with a gentle tug at the small of her back. Dean could feel the old guilt, all of his uncertainty that he had done the right thing slam into him full force.

“Sam, listen to me, you can fight this! SAM!” Sam just kept walking - left the cabin, left Dean, left everything behind. At the last moment Lilith paused, half turning her head to regard the broken man left behind. “What did you do to him, you BITCH!”

“I didn't do anything. I just showed him who he really is.”

“Bullshit!” Panic and anger were warring for first position in Dean's soul, and he spat out his denial with a forceful defiance.

“It's his _destiny_ , Dean. Your brother is a vessel, that’s all.” Her eyes glinted and her voice grew cold. “Don't follow us. He allows you live because without you, he wouldn't be here. But he's not your brother anymore.” She paused.

“This is war, hunter.” Her voice dripped with venomous hatred. “He shields you from me for now. But I still own you. We have unfinished business, you and I.” She smiled, a dark smile full of promise. “The next time we cross paths, you will die.” And with that last remark, she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Moments later Bobby limped into the room, bracing himself along the wall as he came. Despair began to creep into his senses as he glanced around the smoldering remains of the cabin. There was no sign of Sam, Ruby, or the demon Lilith. Tears threatened to form as he made his way painfully towards the young hunter kneeling on the floor.

Dean barely heard him come. Free at last, he knelt inside the circle. Ruby's knife lay useless on the wooden planks beside him. His head was buried in his hands and great, wracking sobs shook his entire frame. In between cries, Bobby could hear him whisper brokenly, “I'm sorry....” over and over, repetitive motions beginning to take hold as the cries escalated.

“Dean?” Bobby knelt by the young man, heart clenching in sorrow, nerves taut with worry. “Dean, what happened?”

Slowly Dean raised his head to meet his friend's gaze. The tortured, frantic look his eyes said it all.

 _I failed._

 

~*~

The girl's hands were slowly going limp at her sides, her vision mostly black with a few bright white spots, and the terror had finally begun to recede as she let out her last breath. Her muddled mind wanted only for the pain to stop, not caring that her death was the only escape from the man that had been brutalizing her for the last several hours.

Finally releasing his hold on the dead girl's throat, the man sat up, wiping one hand over his eyes to clear the sweat streaming from his limp, tangled brown hair. He was powerfully muscled, and as he climbed to his feet he thought with relish of how easily he had overpowered the pretty young thing that lay on his living room floor. Yeah, it had been an entertaining afternoon. Sleepy thoughts threatened to cloud his mind as he reached for his bottle of beer, turning his back on his latest victim's body.

She had been a good find, perfectly fitting his M.O. of athletic dark-haired twenty-somethings. She had even put up a fight for the first few rounds, but eventually he won out; he always did. He was already bored with her when he saw the light go out in her eyes. Now he just wanted to rest.

Which was probably why he didn't see the demon smoke, why he didn't hear the slight gasp of breath; why he didn't see the dead girl's body rise up from the ground.

The last thing he ever heard was a cool, calm voice in his ear, whispering as the small hands reached up and snapped his neck with surprising power. “You really shouldn't have done that.”

Satisfied, Ruby walked away from the man's corpse. “Sorry you didn't make it, sweetheart,” she whispered to the girl's reflection in the living room mirror. “I put the bastard down for you.” Ruby winced at the appearance of the ravaged body. At least the paleness of death was fading, color coming back into the girl's skin as blood and oxygen flowed smoothly once more through her veins.

Giving a cursory glance around the room, she found the girls jeans and T-shirt, still crumpled carelessly against the wall where the man had thrown them. Scooping them up, Ruby headed for the shower. She hated to take the time, but she had a long way to travel and walking through town bruised, bloodied and naked just wasn't really an option. She cursed under her breath as the hot water contacted the cuts all across her new body.

 _I don't have time for this_. She thought. Hastily she scrubbed her wounds, blinking against the pain. She wasn't sure how long she had been gone, or where exactly she was, but there was only one thought on her mind.

 _Sam. I have to get back to Sam._

~*~

Bobby was driving the Impala along the winding country road like a man fleeing his worst nightmare. Pausing occasionally to shift his eyes towards the broken young man in the passenger's seat, he supposed that in a way, he was. _How could I have been so stupid? What the hell was I thinking, taking the boys in there?_ There would be all the time in the world for regret, but for now, he needed to concentrate on keeping himself and Dean alive. They wouldn't be able to help Sam if they got themselves killed. _Lilith, of course, it_ had _to be her._ _Who else would it be?_ He tried to ignore the terror creeping up his spine.

Lilith was the Night Witch, the plague-bringer and destroyer of children, the pale maiden who seduced men to their deaths, the fall of Adam, the Dark Wind and a succubus. And she had Dean's brother. Dean had barely spoken since Bobby dragged him out of the falling cabin and into the waiting car, but what he had managed to piece together had not been good. Now Dean thrashed in his restless sleep, his mind carrying on the fight that his body was too weak to continue. “Sam .. no,” he moaned. “No, this isn't you, please ...” Bobby's heart began to crack as he listened to the tortured boy's cries. He knew that Dean needed rest, but he couldn't bear to listen anymore.

“Dean.” He reached out a hand to the struggling man's shoulder, trying to wake him as gently as possible. “Dean, wake up, son.” Dean gave a violent start as he snapped awake. He looked like he didn't know where he was. For a moment, a flicker of hope flashed behind his eyes, but reality quickly sank in and it was replaced by despair.

"Bobby," Dean choked on the name. His hands were shaking, and he flicked his gaze rapidly from his friend to the road and back. "Bobby, what happened in there?" Fragments of words spun through Dean's mind like a whirlwind. _This, like everything else, was all about Sam._ "How did I miss it?" He whispered. _And you were kind enough to bring him right to our door._ His eyes widened as he realized his monumental mistake. _There is no good and evil, Dean._ He looked down at his hands, realized that they were coated in Sam's dry blood."God, I'm ... _Bobby_..." There was no need for the warning, the color in his face was warning enough. Bobby had already brought the Impala to a screeching halt on the side of the road.

The door swung open and Dean was out, dropping to his knees and retching hard as the acid in his stomach made a break for the pavement. Even after he was done, he still couldn't catch his breath. Dimly he became aware that Bobby was kneeling beside him, lifting him by the shoulders and guiding him back to the car. "I'm sorry son, but we've gotta keep movin," he said. Bobby handed Dean a flask from his jacket pocket. "Here, it's just holy water, but you need to drink somethin." Dean's hands shook uncontrollably as he took the flask.

Within seconds they were back on the road. Dean took a sip of the water. It cooled his parched throat, easing the pain from all the smoke he had breathed. He fought down his panic with sheer willpower. _Think, Dean, come on_. A plan. They needed a plan. "Where we headed?" His throat hurt, and his whole body ached from the struggle with Lilith. He was so tired, but his brain was going a hundred miles a second. There would be no rest, not until he found Sam.

"Back to my place." Bobby replied. At Dean's incredulous look, he added, "At least we know it's secure. We can try to figure out what happened ..." _God, was his voice actually breaking? Come on, Singer, pull yourself together. Those boys need you._ "to Sam." He finished quietly.

Dean sat up a little straighter in his seat. Bobby could almost feel it the second Dean's panic and fear turned to rage. "What happened? What _happened_ to ... a friggin' demon _turned_ him, that's what _happened_!" He began to breathe rapidly, and he clutched the Impala's dashboard like he was holding on for dear life. "I ... I thought," he gasped out, and Bobby looked to check him, he sounded like he was in that much pain. "I thought it was over, you know?" The anger was spent and Dean turned tear-filled eyes towards his friend, pleading. "I thought he was safe."

Bobby didn't really trust himself to say the right thing; Dean was just too fragile. Instead he just nodded, listening. _Let him work it out_ , he thought. _He's smart. He can do this_. Dean continued, his voice growing stronger as he focused his thoughts, searching for the answer the same way he pursued everything; with a fierce determination.

"I thought ..." _This, like everything else, was all about Sam._ "I thought when yellow-eyes died, the plans he had died with him," he whispered, realization dawning. "We were so caught up in the deal, in staying alive, God, how could I _ignore_ it like that? How could I let my _guard_ down like that!" Dean was dangerously close to yelling again, and this time, Bobby cut him off.

" _Dean_. Listen. No one knew, alright? We can't spend time blamin’ ourselves, you hear me?" He looked straight at Dean to emphasize his point. "Nobody's gonna help Sam now but us. Now, I'm gonna find out what the hell happened in there, and _I'm_ going after him. Are you gonna be able to hold it together or not?"

He hated to be so harsh, but he knew Dean, better than almost anyone. The only way to get the kid to focus all that volatile energy - and to keep him from doing something stupid - was to imply that Sam's safety depended on Dean being calm and focused. Dean's eyes glittered with hurt and indignation, but the spark, the feral intelligence, was back.

Dean didn't respond, he just took another sip of water and leaned his head against the window. The water seemed to soothe him, and as the miles ticked by, his spent body dragged his tortured mind to sleep.

 

~*~

By the time they reached the salvage yard, Dean had been awake for a few minutes and gotten his head together enough to realize that they were both hurt, exhausted, and needed desperately to tend to their basic human needs. After the events at the Gate a year before, Bobby, Sam and Dean had secured the perimeter of the house by lining the entire yard with an iron fence. When the gate was latched, it was solid. They were safe, at least for the time being.

Still, Dean skipped the offered sandwich and bottle of water. He took a quick shower and settled in with whisky instead, tearing through Bobby's library right away. Dean had missed the initial research phase of the planning because ... _well, because I was dead, dammit_. He needed to fill in the blanks. "Tell me what you found out about Lilith."

Bobby sighed, leaned back in the easy chair and tried to take a bite of his sandwich with the hand that wasn't holding the ice pack to his aching skull. "Well, for starters, she shows up in lore from several cultures. But the common thread is, she's usually described as a temptress of some kind. She seduces men and makes them sire her children."

Dean choked on his whisky. "What?"

"Some cultures think of her like a succubus. She makes women infertile, kills their children, and then has her own with the men to replace them. She's old magic, Dean. _Real_ old."

~*~

And they _traveled_ , and it seemed like he had traveled this way before, this floating, shimmering sensation, flashes of one plane to the next until finally they came to rest near a field, and Sam didn't know where they were. He only knew that _she_ was leading him, and that he trusted her implicitly, and that she had fought for him, fought for his return, and would never do him harm.

Leading him into the forest, she knelt before him, bowing her head in reverence. He tilted his head in confusion. It all seemed so familiar, and yet... he didn't know what to do. Sensing his hesitation, she craned her graceful neck to look up, up into his eyes. Her voice was rich and warm as she whispered, "Join with me."

~*~

"But she's a demon, right?" Dean asked weakly. Mental images that he really didn't want were running through his mind. He reached out to the coffee table in front of him, touching Ruby's knife again, just making sure it was still there. As long as she was a demon, he could kill her.

"Yeah she's a demon, one of the first." Bobby replied.

"What?" _God, I sound like a broken record._

"There are references, pretty vague ones, to her in the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Zohar, and a bunch of others. If you take 'em as a whole, basically, Lilith seduced Adam, got herself kicked out of the garden, and to get back at the world she started spawning demonic children with Cain. They call her the plague, come to destroy the world."

Dean shook his head. "Bobby, that doesn't make any sense. If she was just after guys, why would she need Sam so bad? I mean, there's a bigger thing here, something we're missing, there _has_ to be." He tried to keep his thoughts clear, but _shehasSamshehasSam_ just kept repeating itself, over and over. "I mean," he stopped for another swallow of the whisky, "his eyes were white, like hers. And he had ... _powers_ , Bobby. _Demon_ powers."

Bobby frowned. "But he wasn't possessed?" Dean shook his head. "Dean, are you sure?" Bobby knew that Sam should have been protected against possession, but with an evil this ancient ... he just couldn't be sure.

"Yes, I'm sure! It was _Sam_ , only ... he was just ... different." Dean's hand trembled and he threw back another shot of whisky. "He said that there wasn't good and evil, and that he couldn't let me hurt her, and ..." Dean's stomach lurched painfully, "and he called her his _family_." He finished, spitting out the words like they were the reason he felt so sick.

"He said the war was about making things right." Dean turned pleading eyes towards the older hunter. The broken whisper was back, his voice barely loud enough for Bobby to hear. "What the hell does that mean?"

~*~

From the edges of the field came demons, cloaked and hooded. Demons like the ones he had seen in his vision; demons who had once served Samael and called him their king. Still kneeling at his feet, Lilith took both of his hands in her own. For a fleeting moment, Sam felt like he shouldn't be there, but when he looked into her wide, white eyes, he couldn't remember why.

The cloaked figures encircled them, forming a loose ring of dark shapes among the trees. Lilith spoke again, and he heard her voice in his mind, in his very soul. "Samael. Join with me."

~*~

Bobby leaned forward, his mouth twisting into a frown. "He called her family?"

"Yes! _Family_ , ok?" Dean said, his voice thick with tension and betrayal. "What did she do, put some sort of spell on him?" Bobby threw the ice pack onto the floor and stood up, startling Dean. He marched straight to the bookshelf. Pulling rows of books away and discarding them carelessly on the floor, he reached back to the second row and pulled out an old, faded book. "What?" Dean asked. When he received no immediate response from the now very occupied elder hunter, he raised his voice and asked again, "Bobby! What?"

"Dean..." Bobby's voice sounded like shattered glass. Dean froze, held his breath. He tried to ready himself for the worst possible news. Bobby's hands actually shook as he read the inscription in the book. He read it twice, three times. They still didn't have any solid proof, but the elder hunter _knew_. "Son, I ..." He saw the fear in Dean's eyes. _How do I say this? John, did you_ know _this?_

"Um, Dean, just listen to me now, just hear me out." Dean nodded curtly, signaling Bobby to go on, but Bobby saw the color drain out of his face and the way the rise and fall of his chest was suddenly very shallow. "Some sources, like the Kabbalah," he waved the book in his hands, "make references to Lilith. They say that after she left the garden, she became the devil's bride." He paused, waiting to see a reaction.

"What devil? Another demon?" Dean asked.

 _Ok, not the reaction I was hoping for._ " _The_ devil, Dean. The original. Lilith was married to _Samael_." Bobby wasn't sure how much more to say. He didn't know how much more pale Dean could get. Gritting his teeth, he plowed on. Dean deserved the truth.

"Samael and Lilith were breeding demonic children, let’s-end-the-world types. God killed Samael and banished Lilith to keep it from happening. Dean," he whispered, "You said yourself, some demons reckon he's coming back someday." he said, his voice almost pleading now, "What if Gordon was right?" The wells of tears springing up in his eyes finally slipped free. He hated to say it, hated to even _think_ it, but ... "What if Sam really is the Antichrist?"

Dean gaped _. How the hell are you supposed to get ready for news like that._

~*~

One demon stepped forward, bowing low. Lilith regarded the newcomer openly. "Rise, Priestess. Join us." The demon stepped forward, pulling back her hood. Sam's newfound senses ran over her, touching the edges of her powers, tasting her essence. He knew her.

"Meg," he growled. Lilith's small hands tightened quickly around his wrists, stilling him. Meg would not meet his gaze, instead she pulled from her robe a small knife. Sam flexed against Lilith's hold, but her gaze held him, her steady voice calming him.

"Don't be afraid," she murmured. "With the return of your power will come your memories. Everything will be clear to you in time." He latched onto her voice, the radiant calm that she exuded. He still had questions for her, pieces of the puzzle that he didn't yet understand. But he trusted her. "She means you no harm, she has come to wed us. Like her father did before her."

Sam blinked. Azazel. Azazel had been in his vision. Azazel had helped to bring him back to life. He shut his eyes tightly, concentrating. No, _Dean_ had brought him back to life. _Hadn’t he?_

Assuming Sam's acceptance, Lilith extended her pale arm towards Meg, still holding Sam's wrist in her hand. Meg began to chant, an ancient language of demons, and the words made Sam's skin burn with power. The blade cut down into Lilith's wrist, then Sam's. He gasped as he felt the sting of the blade, the warm rush of blood, felt the power exit his body. Holding them gently together, Meg caught the dripping flow of their intermingled blood in a shining goblet.

She offered the goblet to Lilith as Lilith rose from her knees. Lilith accepted the goblet. Locking eyes with Sam, she drank, and the bright red stained her full lips, her white eyes glittered in the moonlight. She held the goblet out to him with both hands, her eyes never leaving his. He took it, felt the weight in his grip. This was everything he had ever dreamed of, his reunion with his bride, and yet ... he didn’t, wait, what was …

 _No._ His own voice whispered to him, speaking of potential, of unstoppable power. _This is who I was born to be_. He drank deeply from the cup, cementing the union. Lilith smiled a lithe, dangerous smile. Sam could feel her power running through his veins, linking him as close to her as though the power was his own. Hungrily he reached for her, and when their lips met the circle of demons watching cheered with delight. After a long moment, he broke away, regarding the servants of his inner circle.

"Leave us," he said. They had a lot of catching up to do.

~*~

Dean was pacing frantically now. "I mean, it all makes sense. Mind control, telekinesis, _killing_ with a touch? Super _strength_? Those are all _demon_ powers, Bobby! What if it wasn't about finding a leader for the army that came out of the Gate? What if it was about finding the one person who could handle the power - _his_ power?"

Bobby didn't know what to say. He just watched Dean pace back and forth, and wondered if this was what losing your mind felt like. His numb mind focused sharply when Dean abruptly stopped pacing. "What if ..." Dean's green eyes were wide in disbelief and fear. "What if the whole point of opening the Gate was to let her out?" He sank into the easy chair, trembling. "They all died, every single one of them, they all burned out." He whispered. "Sam was the only one strong enough. And now they'll raise an army." Dean's eyes shone with unshed tears. "God," he rasped, "it's the end of the world." Bobby just turned toward the kitchen, shaking his head in dismay.

"I'm gettin' another bottle of whisky."

~*~

It should have been strange, Sam thought. Strange to hold this creature in his arms again. Strange to him that he had spent the last 25 years not knowing who he was. But none of it was strange; it all made perfect sense. He watched silently as she slept, her alabaster skin glowing in the pale moonlight, her dark hair forming gentle tendrils that clung to him, silently holding him in their soft embrace. _Lilith_. Their forbidden love had split the Heavens in two.

She stirred, waking, and he kissed her softly. It was becoming difficult to remember where he had been. His human life seemed like a dream. He remembered fire, and death. Lilith's opal eyes regarded him openly. _This_ love would never be lost in flame. This love, this perfect creature, was _born_ of flame. Sam smiled. He would never fear fire again.


	5. Chapter 5

Bobby was halfway back from the kitchen when all the lights flickered and went out. Dean looked up from the book in his lap and their eyes met. Without a word they reached for their shotguns. Dean headed for the back door while Bobby moved towards the front. Dean was almost to the window when he heard a woman's voice calling his name. Holding the shotgun low, he put his back to the wall and leaned to get a glimpse out of the window.

There was a young woman there, standing just outside the iron line. She had long, curly dark hair and a tan complexion that contrasted sharply with her bright blue eyes. What stood out the most, though, were the dark angry bruises around her neck and the way her face looked like she'd just been beat to hell.

"Dean!" She called again, and she seemed to not be able to walk any closer. He was sure he had never seen her before. Still, something about the way she was standing ...

Dean opened the door, leveling the shotgun to aim it directly at her chest. "Ruby?" He wanted it to be her, but he just couldn't be sure. He was too far away to tell.

"Yes, genius, are you going to let me in or what?" Bobby had come at the sound of her voice and was there behind Dean now, backing him up. Neither hunter lowered his weapon. Ruby's eyes narrowed. "Dean, where's Sam?" Dean backed off, still holding the shotgun high. He shook his head, just a fraction of a movement, but enough for Bobby to know what it meant. He walked back towards the living room, ignoring her as she called after him.

“Where’s Sam? DEAN!" He collapsed limply into the old beat up couch, dropping the shotgun on the floor and his head into his hands. He couldn't face her, not yet, not after everything she'd done for him. Not after she had trusted him to keep Sammy safe. Dimly he could hear the sounds of arguing coming from the yard. The door slammed shut and Bobby was at his side, kneeling down to look him in the eyes.

"What are we doin’?" He asked.

Dean ran his hands over his eyes, through his mussed hair. "Think it's really her?"

"Well, she's a demon, that's for sure." Bobby quirked a small smile, the first one since this whole mess started. "I said Christo," he explained.

Dean's mouth twisted against its own will at that. "Yeah, I bet she loved that." Bobby nodded, relieved that there was at least one small smile left in Dean. If that was all they had to work with, then that was enough. If he knew those boys at all, he knew one thing for sure. They would never give up on each other. Never. Dean sighed and stood up. "We need to make sure. I'll go find out. Wait here, ok?"

"What for?"

"Just trust me on this one, I got it." Dean replied.

Bobby frowned. If there was anything else he knew for sure, it was to never trust a Winchester when he was desperate. "How, Dean." It wasn't a question, it was an order.

Dean swallowed hard, not making eye contact as he stood to head back to the door. "Uh,” he faltered, "I just can, man - just trust me." Bobby slowly nodded, not wanting to agree, still unsure, but not up for an argument just now either.

"Fine. Holler if ya need me," he called to Dean's retreating form. Dean waved a hand in acknowledgement as he closed the door behind him.

Moments later, Dean stormed back into the house, and a very irate Ruby was hot on his heels, complete with black eyes blazing. "Sam did _what_?" Dean turned on her, pushing her away with enough force to startle them all.

"Sam got _taken_ , alright? You need it in Yiddish? Is somethin' I said not making _SENSE. TO. YOU_?" Dean backed up a step, holding his hands up like he could hold Ruby there through his sheer will. "Lilith _turned_ him, that was her plan all along. You were wrong, she didn't want him dead. You were wrong," He repeated forcefully. Then, softer, "We both were."

Dean's breaths were rapid, his words spilling out as though he was afraid this was his last chance to say anything at all, and he wanted to make it count. His jaw clenched, skin stretched tight as he let his anger flow. "I get it, ok? It's my fault. But if you don't knock off the yelling and help me fix it, we are all going to die!"

He jerked her knife free, held it out to her handle first. His anger had cooled into something he could use. His voice was low and deadly serious. "Now, I'm going to figure out a way to save my brother from that unholy demonic bitch. Are you with me, or aren't you?" Dean watched as Ruby's eyes slowly turned back to their startling blue. Squaring her shoulders, she reached out and accepted the blade. She looked back and forth between the two men, felt their intensity.

Dean could sense her hesitation. His voice softened. "Look, I know this isn’t what you signed on for. This thing," he waved his hands vaguely in the air, " _whatever_ this is, it's beyond us. Bigger than the Gate, bigger than anything this world's _ever_ seen." He pinned her with his gaze, willing her to feel the truth in his words.

"I don't give a rat's ass about this craphole of a world. It can burn for all I care. But I'm gettin' Sammy back, and if you're not with me that means you're standin' in my way. If you ever cared about my brother, if you _ever_ believed in him, then _right now_ is your chance to prove it." He held her gaze firmly, pleading. _Help me, please. I have to save him._

Bobby placed a tentative hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing just enough to let Dean know he was there. Dean held his breath.

Ruby sighed. "Ah, you know, I don't believe I'm saying this, but ... ok." She shot them both a rueful smile. "I promised you I'd look out for Sam, and I meant it. Besides, who could say no to all this _begging_?" Dean's shoulders drooped with relief. He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else just yet. "If we're going to have a chance at all, we need to move, and fast." Ruby stated matter-of-factly. "So, what do we know?"

As she took her seat on the old worn couch, surrounded by piles of books that could kill a man via accidental avalanche, Dean couldn't help but think how drastically his life had changed since just over one year ago. Here he was, all alone except for Bobby, and their only ally was a demon girl with a shadowy past and a hidden agenda. And he couldn't bring himself to turn her out; he needed her, but it was more than that. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._ He trusted her.

And with one common goal in mind, the only three beings in the world that knew that it was about to end sat around the coffee table and went straight to work.

 

~*~

 

"Samael," Ruby whispered weakly. Bobby and Dean nodded, waiting her out. She picked her head up from her hands to look them straight on. _"Samael!"_ She was practically shouting. Her dark hair and angry bruises contrasted sharply with her pale skin, and it made her expression truly haunting. Bobby was eyeing her uneasily, having kept most of his thoughts about her to himself. Asking Bobby to let them work with a demon had been one of the crazier things they had ever done.

 _If you could really see her, you never would have said yes_. Dean shivered, looked down at the floor. He still wasn't used to the X-ray vision, and he wasn't about to tell Bobby about it. It had started before the hellhounds had come for him, and the first thing he had noticed when his eyes snapped open, besides that he was alive, was that it hadn't gone away.

Dean didn't remember Hell in a clear sense, just flashes and feelings, but he instinctively knew that for a demon, Ruby wasn't half bad looking, but it was still enough to scare him half out of his mind. And right at that moment, Dean wasn't at all comfortable with the way her hands had begun to shake. "Ruby?" He said.

" _Don't_. Don't, Dean. Just .. just give me a second." She closed her eyes, concentrating.

"Look, I'm sorry, I am." Dean replied. "But we may not have a second. We need to go after them, kill the bitch _now_ before she gets her hooks in any deeper!"

Ruby glared at Dean with obvious contempt in her eyes.  
"You don't get it, do you? She's not possessing Sam, Sam has become something different. He's accessed his true powers! I tried to warn him about this!" She shook her head rapidly. "If Sam really is the reincarnation of Samael, then I don't think there's anything we can do except ..." She dropped her eyes, tightening her hands to still the shaking.

"Except what?" Bobby prodded, arms crossed over his chest as though he was suspicious of the whole situation.

Ruby took a deep breath, stared fixedly at the floor and whispered, "Except kill him."

Bobby could feel the pressure in the room change in an instant. _Aw, Hell_. He took an almost involuntary step back from Dean as he felt the boy bristle with sudden anger. He knew how Dean's voice would sound.

Like John.

"Nobody's killing my brother," Dean growled. "Now you come up with somethin else." His tone left no room for argument.

Ruby was clearly fighting against the impulse to yell at Dean again, but something brought her up short. Her eyes narrowed. "Samael," she repeated. This time she sounded thoughtful instead of frightened.

"Yeah."

Bobby frowned, still keeping a safe distance from the heat of Dean's palpable anger. "What?" He asked her.

"Well, there might be a chance," she started slowly, but then sped up the words, getting them all out before Dean could latch onto a hope that might not be there. "A _small_ chance, ok, but it's just a legend, a myth. It isn't true."

Dean pursed his lips, eyebrows drawing a V shape, face radiating _what the hell does that mean_.

"It's all semantics, ok? Lucifer, Satan, Samael - they're supposed to be the same. But the Samael legend, the stories about Lilith being his bride ... there are some ... well, discrepancies." She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know which version is true, or if any of them are. All I can tell you is that it fits."

Dean snorted. "Fits it does, yeah, I get it. Enough with the sidestepping Yoda crap, _what do you know_? How's anything you know help Sam?"

Ruby pulled herself up, looking Dean in the eyes, willing him to understand. He met her gaze this time without flinching. She could still read the disgust in his eyes. _I know what you are_. She ignored it.

"In some versions, Samael is a fallen angel. Just like Lucifer. So that's no different. But in some versions, Samael is neither good or evil, he can be swayed one way or the other." She shrugged again. "In others he's one of the four horseman of the Apocalypse, so take your pick." She sighed. "It's all bad, Dean. I'm sorry."

But Dean was caught up on _swayed_ , on _there's a chance_ , on _hope_. "You're telling me that if we kill Lilith - if we break her hold on him he might be able to fight out of it, is that it?"  
Ruby spread her hands wide. "I said maybe, Dean. Maybe." She glanced at Dean, then Bobby. "Either way, she knows you're alive, and she's going to come after you. We have my knife, but we need better odds. Range. We still need the Colt. I think we should split up."

Dean suddenly noticed how weary he was. _When was the last time I slept_? He'd been dead for three days. His mouth quirked into an ironic grin. _I don't think Hell counts as resting._ "Split up and head where? We don't know where the Colt is. That demon or whatever said Lilith never had it."

"Bela," Bobby's voice cut into the conversation. "we need to find her."

"But she's off the radar, you said it yourself." Dean replied, frustrated at the same old conversation, wanting and needing answers but getting _nowhere_.

Ruby perked up at that. "I can find her."

"How?" the men both asked in unison.

"I can scry for her. Do you have anything she's had her filthy paws on?"

Dean snapped his fingers. "What's left of the dream root, Bobby, didn't you store that bottle somewhere?"

Bobby nodded slowly. "I think it's in the cellar." He gave them both an even glance. "You two play nice while I'm gone." His tone left no room for arguing.

Silence descended rapidly in Bobby's absence. Dean began to pace, all kinetic energy and nerves, and Ruby watched him quietly, bright eyes absorbing every motion. Dean sifted through his memories, searching for anything he knew that could be important. He found something. He froze. "I still own you," he exclaimed.

Ruby crinkled her nose in confusion. "What?"

"Lilith! Back at the cabin, after ... she said 'I still own you'. Why would she ..." Dean stopped short. "Wait. You said Lilith would come after me." His green eyes glittered with suspicion, and his voice grew rough and hard. "Why?"

Ruby swallowed hard, eyes shifting to worn floorboards. "She holds your contract," she said in a small voice.

Dean froze. "Come again?"

"Look, I tried to warn you that she was after Sam. It makes sense. If she wanted to turn him - she'd have your soul as leverage. I guess she's planning on finishing you off, now that Sam's on her side." She looked anxious as she met the young hunter's gaze.

"No." Dean objected. "No, no, no, because the deal is _off_ , alright - I held up my end!" One look at her face told him the truth. One look at her cursed, feral _demon_ face. Now it made sense why he could still see her. Dean curled his fingers into fists. He was _not_ going to start shaking now. He couldn't afford to be distracted. If he was going back to Hell, he wasn't going without getting Sam back first. "What did you do?" he asked her, low and quiet, tone leaving no room for avoidance.

The Ruby that he knew from before, the one he had hated, flared to the surface. "I had the Trickster save your ungrateful ass, that's what." She stalked over to him, fisting the front of his shirt in her hand and drawing him in close. "All we needed was a little more time, and _I_ got it for you. Now you know who holds your deal. Kill Lilith, and you'll get back your soul." she spat through clenched teeth.

Dean reached up and grabbed her hand in his, twisting her wrist until she winced painfully. "Why should I listen to a word you say, huh? What's your stake in this? Why'd you bring me back at all?" he demanded. His green eyes blazed with inner fire and he met her gaze unflinchingly.

"Because," she said evenly, "I needed Sam to trust me." Dean's eyes narrowed in disgust. He released his grip, and she released hers, and he pushed her away. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his shoulders trembled with rage.

"You find Bela, and then you get out."

"Dean, I ..."

"No." Dean cut her off, firm in his resolve. "You need me to kill Lilith? Fine. But after that, we're done. You want Sam so bad? Get in the damn line." He turned his back, refusing to look at her. He was disgusted with himself. He should have known better. Now, not only had he hand-delivered his brother to Lilith, but the very fact that he had escaped from Hell was going to be used against Sam.

Some people said that if a thing sounded too good to be true, then it probably was. Dean's lip twisted in a bitter grin. _If you're a Winchester, anything that sounds good at all should send you running like crazy in the other direction._

Ruby kept her mouth shut for once, perhaps sensing that Dean was beyond reasoning with. A cold, stony silence settled over the room.

Bobby returned with the bottle, a triumphant grin on his face. "Found it! Knew I had it somewhere ..." he frowned. "What happened?" Ruby kept her arms crossed firmly and glued her eyes to the wall. Dean fidgeted like he wanted to be pacing but tension was holding him back. Bobby rolled his eyes. "Fine. I shoulda known tellin' you two to play nice was about as useful as boobs on a man." he said. He held out the bottle to Ruby. "Get goin' on this, then. Do somethin' helpful."

Dean stared out the window as Ruby showed Bobby how to scry. He didn't need to listen to anything else coming from the former witch. If it was something they could use, Bobby would remember it. It wasn't long before Bobby came to him, grinning like a kid at Christmas. "Found her." Dean nodded. He ached to be on the road, to take a step towards a solution - towards Sam.

He didn't spare Ruby a glance. He knew she'd be around. He grabbed his jacket from the old battered chair and flashed his keys at Bobby.

"Let’s hit the road."


	6. Chapter 6

Bela Talbot knew when she stole the Colt from the Winchesters that it might mean the end of her life. She just never thought it might mean the end of the world, as well. _Death,_ _the Tower, The Judgment, The Wheel of Fortune, The Lovers._ Bela quirked her eyebrows in surprise at her latest throw. _The Fool_. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she tossed the rest of the Tarot deck onto the nightstand.

Shifting her legs over the side of the bed, she headed for the bathroom. Little things like taking a soothing bath probably wouldn't make much difference in her stress level at this point, but if the cards were right, she might not get many more chances to indulge. Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard the soft click of a hammer being pulled, followed by a low hiss of breath, and she knew she was screwed.

Without turning her head, she greeted him. "Dean. How interesting, I think I was just reading about you."

"Short and sweet, Bela. Where's the Colt, and maybe I let you live." His tone was dark, and she knew that if she looked at him, she'd see the look of a man who was barely holding it together. She shook her head. He always did care too much.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Dean. I sold your little pistol, just like you thought. It's not here."

"Then where. Is. It." Dean ground out.

She turned to face him then, trying to project some semblance of apology. "I'm sure I don't know."

Dean's green eyes flashed brightly, shadows of rage and impatience flickering across their surfaces, only for an instant. The next instant, the gun was down and he was _right there_ , in front of her, grabbing onto her hard enough to leave bruises.

Dean threw Bela roughly to the wall, pinning her there by the wrists. "Tell me the truth!" he barked. When she didn't respond quickly enough he dragged her down, applied the most brutal arm bar he knew, and planted her firmly face down on the coffee table. She gasped as Dean applied more pressure to the hold, threatening to snap her arm in two.

Dean's voice was deep and dangerous as he warned, "You lost me my brother, bitch. Believe me, if I didn't need you, I'd kill you right now." He gave a vicious twist, and she cried out against the pain. "You had just better _pray_ that I get him back, because if I don't then I'm going to track you down and take it out of your pretty little hide, do you _hear me_?"

"Yes! Yes, stop, _please_ ," she begged as tears began to stream down her face. She had never felt so frightened of him, had never seen this raw angry power. To his credit, Dean let her go instantly, but he stepped back and leveled the .45 to aim right between her eyes. She rolled off the table, curling up on the floor and wrapping her arms around her legs as she cried. When she looked up at his face, she knew the despair in those eyes was all her fault.

She wished he would just shoot her. For the first time in her life, she knew she deserved it.

She drew a ragged breath. "The truth is ... the truth, is," she said shakily, "that I don't know exactly what's happened. But whatever it is, it's _huge_. There isn't any way out of this one, Dean." The tears were hot on her cheeks as she raised her eyes to meet his. "It's the end of the world," she whispered. "and there's nothing you can do."

Dean never dropped the .45, never wavered. "Try me."

"Look," she said, "look on my bed, there. See the cards?"

Dean crossed warily over to the bed, keeping the gun aimed true, never taking his eyes off of her. Slowly he reached down and picked up the six loose cards. His insides turned to ice as he slid off the first two. Death. _Yeah, no kidding_. Judgment. He frowned at the third.

"The Tower, what's that mean?" He looked back to the woman shaking on the floor.

Bela chewed her lip, ran a nervous hand through her hair. Dean was angry enough, and none of this was going to be good news. She hesitated one second too long.

"What's it _MEAN_?" Two swift steps where all it took to put the barrel right into her face. Dean's eyes were steady, but there was a fine tremor running through that trigger finger. Bela closed her eyes and prepared for the worst.

"It means Hell," came the reply. Bela opened her eyes just enough to try to see without making a move. "Hey, Bela. How's things?" Bobby stood in the bedroom doorway, leveling a rifle of his own in her general direction.

Bela swallowed hard. "Bobby. Good to see you." Dean backed off a step, exchanging a look with the older man, exchanging his prisoner for a better look at the cards. The Tower card looked innocent enough, but Dean trusted Bobby.

"Hell on Earth?" he asked.

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe. Usually a gate or summit. Maybe we already passed that part." Dean's eyes were drawn now to the cards, but Bobby's stayed glued to Bela. Bela thought that Dean may have killed her just because he wanted to, but she knew Bobby _would_ kill her if she gave him a reason. Hunters didn't last long without being good at their jobs. One of the rules was to protect yourself, always.

Dean grunted and let the Tower card fall. His face paled at the next card. Bobby noticed the change immediately. "Dean?"

"The Lovers," Dean replied. He held up the card, showing Bobby the illustration. "Looks like our little theory was right on the money."

Bela watched, fascinated, as Dean slumped down wearily onto the bed, whispering " _Sam_..." in as broken a voice as she'd ever heard. He looked at her then. "Anything specific about this card you'd like to share?" he asked, words suddenly dripping venom.

She knew better than to hesitate this time. "It can mean love or lust. It portrays them as powerful forces, forces that are indifferent to the laws of humanity." The words came out in a rush, and she forced herself to hold his gaze, telling him that she had told the truth.

Bobby's face turned from one of concern into one of steady determination. "What else, Dean?" he asked.

Dean shuffled the cards again. "The Wheel of Fortune."

Bela didn't wait this time. "There are four figures on the wheel, They stand for possibilities. The options are tenses. 'I reign', 'I have reigned', and so on." Dean's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt, so she continued. "The last one is 'I am without reign'." She finished.

"And who's this?" Dean pointed to the blindfolded figure in the center.

"It's Destiny. She spins the wheel." She answered. Dean huffed loudly at that.

"Destiny can kiss my ass," he spat. "I don't care what some yellow-eyed bastard says, I know Sam better than anyone. He's not lost, he's just not. I won't let that happen."

A slow look of comprehension dawned on Bela's fragile features. "What's happened? Sam is ... missing?"

Bobby measured her carefully. He glanced at Dean for confirmation. Dean shook his head, an almost imperceptible motion. _No_. He didn't want Bela to know more than she could figure out on her own. He didn't want to leave her at their backs. "Sam's in trouble, and that's that." Bobby answered. "Tell us about the last card."

Dean held the card loosely in his fingers, studying it. It showed a lone figure. His face was like a joker's mask, and his shoulders seemed slumped and weary. He trudged alone up a long hill, his eyes full of sorrow and something more. Will. Determination. Strength.

Bela found that she suddenly couldn't take her eyes off of Dean as she whispered, "The Fool."

As much as Bela couldn't take her eyes off of Dean, Dean didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off of the card. "It's me," he whispered. For the first time since he showed up in her apartment, the tremble from his hands reached his voice. "It's me, isn't it?"

"I don't know. It depends." Bela replied, the rifle taking careful aim at her all but forgotten in her new found curiosity. Maybe it wasn't the end of the world after all. "The Fool doesn't play with the other cards. He's above the game. No other card can beat him. He's invulnerable ... because he sees himself as worthless."

Dean was sitting very still. Thoughts swirled through his mind, making him dizzy with the possibilities. _The Lovers_. Lilith's hold on Sam would be strong. _The Tower_. Hell on Earth was coming again if Dean couldn't break that hold. _The Wheel_. Sam may have some screwed up demonic destiny, but Dean made his _own_ destiny, and Sam belonged in _Dean's_ destiny, no one else's. _The Fool_. He smiled. _Yeah, that works_.

Dean pocketed the six cards, standing quickly. All traces of uncertainty were gone. "Come on. Bobby. We're done here."

Bobby squinted hard at Bela. "If I were you, I wouldn't follow us. In fact, if I were you, I'd sit my pretty behind right here in this apartment until we tell you it’s safe to leave."

Bobby backed slowly out of the bedroom and shut the door, leaving Bela alone with her thoughts. She heard them doing something to the front door, probably jamming it enough to slow her down if she tried to follow them. But they needn't have worried.

She made her way back to the nightstand, legs weak with relief. Pulling out a pad and pencil, she quickly wrote down the names of the six cards. It didn't take a genius to figure out that if the world was indeed about to end, Sam Winchester was caught right in the middle of it; maybe he was even the cause.

She set down the notepad. If Sam was the reason, but Dean was after him with _that_ look in his eyes, then maybe it _wasn't_ going to be the end.

Bela smiled. "Hmm," she whispered to no one in particular, "Perhaps I'll have that bath after all."

 

~*~

 

They settled in a rambling old country house on the outskirts of a town that Sam didn’t think had seen any new residents recently. Acres of rolling farmland surrounded the property provided plenty of buffer for anyone who might decide to come looking.

She’d said that they would need some time for him to settle in. He’d frowned, feeling that he had somewhere urgent to be, but when she took his hand in hers and lead him across the wide green lawn, he’d gone with her without question.

He stretched lazily; arms crossed in front of him on the upstairs bedroom windowsill, and watched her stroll out to the fence. Others waited there, he knew. They guarded the whole ranch from prying eyes and innocent passersby alike. They guarded him.

Sam stifled a low growl. He didn’t trust the demons in their company – wouldn’t trust them no matter what she said. She was his, his bride and his destiny, but she was an ancient power, credited with the fall of all of humanity. He’d be stupid not to think for himself.

 

~*~

 

The demon that had once gone by the name of Meg stood at attention near the gate as her mistress approached. Being here now made her more than nervous; it wracked her mind with fear. After all that she’d been through, every step she’d taken for the loyalty of her family, it had been Sam she’d been looking for all along. _Dammit_.

The whole situation was so screwed up she almost wished she was back in the Pit – wished she was anywhere but on that godforsaken farm. Almost.

But she was Azazel’s daughter, and it was her right by blood and birth to be alongside Lilith at the end of time. She snorted at the irony. In a way, it made Sam her half brother. _Dammit_.

“You seem upset.” Lilith’s smooth voice cut into her thoughts.

“Mistress.” She bowed her head in respect. When she met the High Queen’s eyes, they sparkled with amusement.

“Oh, come now. No need to be coy. You are … disappointed … with your father’s choice, are you not?”

She dropped to her knees, disgusted at the way her hands were shaking. “Mistress, I beg you, I didn’t know. I would never have -" _possessed him_ , the finished thought echoed endlessly on a loop through her mind.

“Relax,” Lilith smiled, touching the crown of her head, granting her permission to stand. “What’s past is past.” Her eyes narrowed then, and she cast a furtive half glace back towards the house, watchful. “The Winchester boy is strong. We will stay here until the Master’s essence has taken firmer hold of him.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The Mistress turned to leave, but offered one last word of advice. “You and your family caused him pain. You remind him of things I need him to forget. Steer clear of him if you know what’s good for you.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

 _Dammit_.

 

~*~

 

Leaving Bela’s apartment with the cards in hand, Dean felt optimistic for the first time since he made the damn deal in the first place. He kept reminding himself, and Bobby kept reminding him, that all of the signs pointed to hope. They wouldn’t give up on Sam, not until there was no other choice.

But as the days dragged on without any leads, Dean began to get impatient. He had grudgingly agreed to go back to Bobby’s until they had a firm course of direction, but the days turned into weeks and Dean was losing his mind.

Bobby wasn’t much calmer, and the two of them were getting onto each other like a pack of starving Rotties grappling over a steak bone when they finally decided to vote on whether to tell their contacts about this whole thing with Sam or not. But of course, there was just the two of them to vote, and Bobby voted _yes_ , and Dean voted _no_ and underscored it with a right hook to the older man’s jaw when Bobby demanded a recount.

Bobby was certain that other hunters would get onto Sam’s trail soon anyway, but Dean argued that if they did, they’d be some damn good hunters because they even had a demon looking and they had nothing. The whole country was quiet. No signs, no omens anywhere. It reminded Dean of the calm before the storm in Wyoming a year ago, and it made him unspeakably nervous.

Weeks turned into months and Dean had read everything he could get his hands on regarding Lilith, Samael and the Four Horseman, and all he’d succeeded in doing was give himself nightmares in which his brother was the witches’ slave, cowed into a submissive partner by her dark magic. Or worse, that Sam had become not a captive, but a leader.

Dean couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, and when he looked into the mirror he saw something less than human staring back. It had been two months since Sam had been stolen from him. Two months – every second a living nightmare. Dean thought that hell was probably just about the same as this.

 _Damn it, Sammy. Where are you?_

 

~*~

 

"So," she purred, arching into his touch as he ran his fingers lazily across her pale skin, "when planning to take over the world, what's stop number one on the list?"

He grinned, all bright teeth and soft edges, dimples deepening as he pondered his answer. Lilith was pleased. Of all the special children chosen as candidates to be her master's human form, Sam was by far the most exquisite. He had been raised a warrior, and it showed in his casual grace, in the molten, restrained power of his movements. She lusted for him deeply, jealousy burning through her veins like ice. He belonged to her, and no one else. His potential for power was unlimited. Azazel had chosen well.

He was familiar to her, the taste of his power bringing back lifetimes of memories, but still so new and different. Like a newborn, wide-eyed and innocent, less the dark master she remembered and more _Sam_. Something young and fragile to be protected. She didn’t mind. She’d teach him everything he needed to know; she had all the time in the world.

She breathed deeply as his fingertips traced lightly across her navel, his power reaching deep inside her to caress the new essence forming within. "Well," he whispered against the curve of her neck, his long hair brushing her cheekbones, "I think the first step would be to eliminate the competition, don't you?" He raised white eyes to meet hers, radiating with power.

"Yes," she breathed.

"So," he teased, "who's the competition?"

She was finding it hard to focus, the sight of him filling her vision, waves of his power washing through her like electricity, but deep inside the burning jealousy took hold. She had lost him once. Never again.

"Hunters," she spat coldly. "Anyone who knows about you. And the other children. Other psychics, like you."

His voice hardened, eyes narrowing as he replied, "There are no other children. Azazel killed them all. I'm the only one left." He dared her to defy him, the soothing power taking on a warning edge in her senses. She swallowed hard, remembering how he could get when he was angry. But he needed to know the truth.

Besides, he would know if she was lying.

"There are other generations."

And their evening had started out so nicely.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam peered across the street with intense curiosity. “Who is he?” He asked.

“Why don’t you go find out?” Lilith replied smoothly. “Use your powers.”

Sam bit his bottom lip in concentration. “It’s just … it’s still strange, to me.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, running long fingers through his hair and craning her neck for a quick kiss, “It will come back to you soon enough.”

The bright midday California sun shone down hot against his skin, but Sam didn’t sweat – not anymore. His power flowed evenly inside him, absorbing the heat like a snake, relishing it. He felt the solar flares of the Sun, the molten core of the Earth. The eternal flame of Hell.

He watched the younger man come out of the sandwich shop, paper bag in hand, and walk warily down the street. He filtered out the noise of the humanity all around him and zeroed in his focus on just the man of interest.

He frowned.

“Why can’t I sense him?”

Lilith smiled. For all his ancient power, he sounded a little like a petulant child. “It’s his ability,” she explained. “He is shielded from us.”

Sam made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and shrugged. “Alright, wait here.”

He set off after the man, keeping his distance discreet. He may have more power now than ever before, but he still moved on memory, and his body knew stealth better than most, and more than enough for this hunt.

The man turned down a cluttered alleyway, casting an anxious glace over his shoulder and pulling out his cell phone as he went. Sam waited until the man was a good distance inside, and then stepped into full view, blocking the exit.

Even though his back was turned, the man froze instantly. His raised hand cradled the cell phone to his ear, and without a word he lowered it and snapped it shut. “Why are you following me?” He whispered.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Turn around,” he said. “What’s your name?”

The younger man reluctantly complied. “Kyle.” There was a defiant edge in his voice, but his fingertips were shaking against the plastic edges of the phone.

He was younger than Sam, twenty maybe. He seemed to be dressed the part for his age group; designer jeans ripped in all the right places, multi-layer surf shop shirts, and blond highlights in his spiky hair. Sam couldn’t get a read on him, but it was the eyes that gave him away – kid was used to being hunted. He had that cagey, twitchy look about him.

Just like Max Miller. _Dangerous_ , whispered the darkness. _Crazy, unpredictable. Human scum_.

Sam held up his hands, palms out. “Ok, Kyle - I’m Sam. Alright? Just … take it easy.” The kid seemed to relax fractionally, but he kept his distance.

Smart kid.

Kyle shifted his feet back and forth, betraying his nerves. “Who are you? What do you want?” he demanded.

Sam smiled. “Look, there isn’t an easy way to get into this, so you just have to believe me, alright?” Kyle raised his eyebrows, whether in disbelief or annoyance, Sam couldn’t tell. “I need your help.” he said. Kyle stiffened.

“You a psychic?”

Sam blinked. “What?”

“You another psychic? Look, tell your people thanks, but I’m not special, and I don’t want any part of your crazy-ass conspiracy theory!”

Saw switched tactics. “Dude, why the hell would you think I’m a psychic? You talk to psychics all the time? They get most of your paycheck?”

Kyle snorted. “Nah, man, they’ve been hounding me. Keep sayin’ somethin’s coming. Some great evil or something.” He pocketed his cell phone and swiped a hand through the stiff, gelled spikes of his hair. “It’s driving me nuts.”

Sam laughed out loud, drawing a shy smile from the kid. “Are you telling me,” he joked, “that there’s been some great disturbance in the Force?”

Kyle laughed weakly in return. “Crazy, right? This one chick in particular, keeps sayin’ she’s been having visions about me. Visions, can you believe it? Say I’m the ‘Cleric’ or some crap. Supposed to be some kind of super-powered demon killer.” He snorted heavily. “Like I’d ever be special, anyway.” The last phrase was quiet, almost wistful, as though he was talking to himself.

“Cleric, huh? Whatever that means.”

The kid was eyeing him warily now, like he couldn’t understand why he’d admit such things to a total stranger.

Sam shrugged. “It’s alright – I’ve got one of those faces.”

Kyle shrugged a little, and then frowned. “So, if you aren’t a psychic, what did you need my help with?”

 _Humans, crazy. Threat. Dangerous. Kill us all. Kill him._

The crackling heat of Sam’s power surged forward, lunging at the edges of his control like a pack of snarling wolves lusting for the kill.

Unrolling slowly inside his mind, Sam saw the next few moments with startling clarity. He saw how the power would strike out and encircle the boy. He wouldn’t even sense it coming. He saw it press closer, dark red tendrils of energy dancing across the boy’s skin. He saw the boy flinch, blue eyes widening in disbelief as his skin began to glow.

He felt himself fall as the light from Kyle’s soul flowed up the currents of Sam’s power and killed him.

Sam faltered, his heart pounding in his chest. _Special. Cleric. Demon killer_.

“Sam, you ok?” Kyle took a worried step towards him, trying to get a read through the tint of Sam’s dark sunglasses. “Sam?”

The vision came to a screeching halt, but the dark power struggled on, seemingly unaware of the sudden danger. Sam focused on the boy, now only steps away.

“Sam?”

In a fluid blur of motion, Sam pulled his knife from his belt, bridged the gap, and ran it straight into the young man’s heart.

Kyle’s eyes flew wide in shock, weak hands coming up to grip Sam’s right arm as he held the blade firmly in place. “Wh … why?” he whispered.

Sam curled his left hand around the back of Kyle’s neck, bracing him as he lowered him gently to the ground. “Because,” he said quietly. “You’re special.”

When his breathing stopped and his soul took flight, it left his body with the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips.

Sam exhaled, gave in to the pressure of the dark, and turned the power loose.

 

~*~

 

Dean was down the street from the junkyard at the closest local bar, using every shred of willpower he had left to not get shitfaced drunk.

They had officially tried everything they could think of. Sam was just gone. Dean knew from experience, if Sam wanted to disappear, he could, and there wasn’t gonna be any finding him until he called you and fessed up to where he was. And that was before he was the friggin Devil.

The smell of cigarettes hanging in the air turned his stomach, and he stared dully at his beer. The place was mostly deserted, just a few old timers racking up a game of pool – too early in the afternoon for the younger crowd to be out – not that this town really had a younger crowd anyway.

The barkeep wandered over for the third time, giving his untouched beer an appraising glance. “Feelin’ alright, Dean?” he asked, waving a hand meaningfully towards the beverage.

Dean studied the counter like he was going to find all the answers there, written somewhere in the swirling knots of the oak boards. “Yeah Jake, m’fine, thanks.” He’d been here enough times with Bobby that the man knew his name, but even if he was drunk, there was no way he’d launch into a round of ‘My Life Sucks’ with a stranger.

“Suit yourself,” Jake said. He left Dean alone, crossing over to the small mounted television and turning on the afternoon news. Dean settled easily back into the fog of his thoughts, trying to think of something, _anything_ they may have missed. Maybe there were new signs, signs that only cropped up when Sam was around. Maybe somewhere water was turning to blood, or locusts were swarming, or –

“Hey Jake, turn it up, will ya?”

Startled from his reverie, Dean turned to see one of the old timers staring intently at the television. Curiosity got the better of him, and he glanced down the bar to see what was up.

 _“An earthquake registering 5.4 on the Richter scale rocked the hills of Chino, California today at 11:42 A.M.”_

The newscaster’s voice was professionally bored even as footage of the wreckage began to roll across the screen.

 _“It isn’t certain yet if there were any lives lost, as rescuers are still digging through the rubble. Damage is minimal considering the strength of the quake, since most of the buildings near the epicenter are new and were built to withstand tectonic shifts. However, the footage released from a local bank near the epicenter is still quite the sight to see. ”_

Video from an outdoor security camera began to roll. For a moment, everything was calm, but suddenly the camera began to shake and vibrate. It was fuzzy, but Dean could make out people in the street starting to run as cars came to a halt and windows and pavement began to shatter.

 _“The shock of the quake reached well into nearby Los Angeles, causing several theme parks to shut down.”_

Dean pushed back from the bar, took one final sip of his beer, and stood to leave. An earthquake could mean something, after all, and he’d wasted enough time for one day. Time to hit the road.

He cast a last glance towards the grimy T.V. screen, and froze. In the middle of the chaos, walking calmly down the street, there was one man who stood out from the rest. The camera jumped violently, the man was far away, and the film was grainy, but Dean _knew_.

It was Sam.

If Dean ran any red lights or stop signs on his way back to Bobby’s place, he didn’t notice.

 

~*~

 

Sam should have known right away that setting off an earthquake would be a sure way to draw demonic attention.

Less than a week outside of California, they were approached for a meeting.

He dimly remembered that there would be other factions; intellectually he knew that many of them would resist the idea of a human rising to power. Many would seek him out; many would oppose him openly. This group would be the first. They had requested to meet at midnight in an open, neutral area.

Sam had rolled his eyes.

Now that he was there, looking at them and hearing what they had to say, he was just as bored as he thought he’d be.

One demon stepped forward. _African_ , Sam recognized. _Old power, tribal_. The demon was hugely muscled, and its arms were crossed tightly over its chest in a defensive posture that meant it had some kind of demand to make. Sam raised his eyebrows in interest.

Maybe this would be fun.

“Something you’d like to say to me?” He asked, his voice pitched low.

“We want proof. You Azazel’s chosen boy, brought to lead us, yah? Give us a sign. Show us a demonstration of ya powah."

Sam smiled.

The earth was rent in two as the searing fires of Hell arose, writhing light blotting out the silver canopy of stars. The demons in the clearing cowered in fear, shielding their faces from nature’s fury. The ground began to blaze, and flames surrounded them all, forming a solid circle to pen them in.

As they knelt down at his feet, Sam locked eyes with the one who had made the request. “I don’t think I have anything to prove here,” he said pleasantly. The demon hissed and placed his hands on the ground in a gesture of submission.

“Mastah,” he breathed. He bowed his head low to the crackling ground, making as though to kiss the earth at Sam’s feet.

Sam nodded absently. Across from him, Lilith was dancing in the wall of flames, burning with passion and desire, the feel of his power riding through her in waves as she laughed in uncontrolled defiance to the elements. Suddenly, he had other places he wanted to be.

He leaned down and cupped the prostrate demon’s chin in his hand, titling it upwards until he could see the fear in its black, soulless eyes. “I don’t have time for you right now,” he said. “In fact, I don’t have time for you … at all.”

Sam thought of things and they just happened.

Stepping over the now rotting corpse of the demon who’d dared to question him, Sam took Lilith’s hand and led her through the flames.

He left the rest of them to burn.

 

~*~

 

Only one person had died in the quake. He’d been found buried under the rubble, and his body was so badly mangled and bruised from the impact of the debris that the coroner had almost missed the knife wound.

“Poor kid, huh? If it weren’t for the quake we might have been able to find out who killed him.” Dr. Wellbourne stepped back from the body and removed her latex examination gloves with a sad air.

Dean had stopped breathing the instant he saw the knife wound. And yeah, he saw it right away. He’d know Sam’s handiwork anywhere.

When Dean just continued to stare Bobby stepped up instead, years of practiced acting skills swinging into action. “Mind if I see the murder weapon?”

She shrugged, gesturing to a plastic bag on the evidence counter. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Bobby picked up the bag as Dr. Wellbourne slid Kyle Gray’s body back into the steel rack. Dean didn’t look up, but he could almost sense the subtle tightening of the skin around the corners of Bobby’s eyes.

Dean cleared his throat, focused on cutting all emotion from his voice. “So what, no leads? Didn’t anyone know who this kid was?”

“Well, so far all we’ve got is that he complained to a few of his friends about some lady that’d been following him.” She said with a wry grin. “Said she was a psychic, you believe it?” She dropped the last bit of information conspiratorially, leaning forward a little to look Dean in the eyes.

Bobby moved between them, blocking Dean from her open stare. “Got an address?”

She shook her head. “No, none of his friends even knew her name. Could be anyone.”

“Well, thank you for your time, ma’am.”

While Bobby rounded off goodbyes with the Doctor, Dean swiped the plastic evidence bag and headed for the door.

Time to go.

 

~*~

 

Checking the hospital records in Chino was next to pointless. Whoever this psychic was, she wasn’t injured. If she was dead, no one had found her. Dean ground his knuckles into his eyes, trying to ward off both the frustration and exhaustion at the same time.

“We knew this’d be a long shot, Dean.” Bobby said gruffly as they left the Pomona Valley Medical Center. “Sam’s been long gone from here, prob’ly lit outta town second the quake hit.”

“There has to be some trail, somethin’, dammit!” Dean snapped. Bobby stared cautiously at him, like he was afraid Dean might swing on him again. Feeling a little deflated, Dean sighed. “Sorry. It’s just … Sam …”

“I know, kid. I don’t wanna believe it either.” Bobby reached out awkwardly for Dean’s shoulder, but thought the better of it and plunged his hands deep into his jean pockets instead.

“Sam’s knife, Bobby.” Dean whispered. Bobby studied the ground at his feet with interest. “I gotta know why, man.”

“There’s one more place we oughta look, just in case.” Bobby offered. He immediately wished he hadn’t; the burning hope in Dean’s eyes _hurt._

 

~*~

 

She didn’t even have a name. They just found her cowering in a corner after the quake. Figured it was related. She was their only new admission. They said she hadn’t spoken a word. She was on sedatives, but Dean could smell the sharp scent of fear on her the second he walked into the room.

Padded white walls and straightjackets had never been his favorite things. When the door closed behind him, leaving them alone, he suppressed a shiver. “Hey,” he whispered, walking to the edge of the bed where she sat, arms bound and eyes wide. “It’s ok, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He spread his hands out, palms forward. “I just need to know something.”

She was trembling, but she held his gaze, and he took it as a sign to continue. “Did you know Kyle Gray?” He asked. A shudder shook her entire frame, and her mouth worked open and shut slowly, but she couldn’t seem to form any words.

Intelligence rested behind her drug-damped eyes, and she bit back a frustrated moan. Suddenly she began to struggle, pulling hard against the jacket as tears began to form and roll down her pale cheeks.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Dean reassured her as best he could, stepping closer in an attempt to lend her at least a small amount of comfort. He brought his hand up to brush her light brown hair back from her eyes. Her whole face brightened, and she began to nod vigorously.

“You want … you want me to touch you?” He whispered. Another nod. “Uh … ok …” This was beyond weird, but she wasn’t going anywhere, and Dean figured he was more than capable of defending himself against a pale, frail sedated woman. She nodded frantically again, gesturing with the point of her chin to his hands, each in turn. “Like this?” He raised the tips of his fingers to hesitantly hover over her cheeks. The pleading request in her eyes was more than clear.

“Here goes nothing, I guess.” He offered his best _trust me, honest_ smile, and he was rewarded with a shaky smile in return. She closed her eyes, just taking deep breaths.

Dean took a deep breath of his own, rested his palms on her tearstained cheeks, leaned his forehead gently against hers, and took his very own front row seat to the end of the world.

 

~*~

 

By the time Dean made it back to the Impala, Bobby was madder than hell and Dean had already thrown up twice in the loony bin’s lobby bathroom. Bobby practically grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the driver’s seat. “Boy, I oughta tan your hide. What. The hell. Took you s’damn long?”

Dean inserted the key, running on autopilot. Now that he was back safe inside his baby, he didn’t remember how he even got there. He stared out through the windshield, wishing he could erase the images playing over and over in his mind.

“Dean Winchester, you look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, dammit!”

“She was a psychic, alright. She … showed me things.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Things? What kinda things?”

That kid had been the one. The one who could have stopped Samael. And Sam killed him. He knew it was true, because he saw it. He saw Kyle’s blood run red on his brother’s hands. He saw what would happen to all of them if he failed. _When Dad told me that I might have to kill you, it was only if I couldn’t save you. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna save you._

Dean’s jaw twitched and his grip firmed on the steering wheel. “Doesn’t matter, they aren’t happening.”

Bobby kept staring as Dean pulled the Impala out of the parking lot and into the Chino streets. It was a long time before he responded.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

 

~*~

 

Samael and his bride stalked the night, moving swiftly from town to town, city to city. Everywhere they stopped, they were joined; met by demons, by spirits, by elemental creatures of earth and flame, by humans who had turned their backs on their own kind to be a part of the destruction of their tortured world.

Everywhere they went, the creatures and humans alike bowed before him, offering their souls to his service. Some offered freely, some had been sold to him years before. Everywhere they went Lilith held the Book, the Book of the names of the damned, the lists of contracts signed in their blood. Every time he stood before them, he felt their fear and anguish.

And it empowered him.

"The time for this world has come," he growled, his voice guttural and deep, his muscles trembling, heady with the power. "All of you have come to me for one reason." He looked across the crowd, at the trembling masses. Some were possessed of demons, and they exulted in his presence. Some cowered in fear. Some were innocents, brought by the others for endless amusement, sacrifices to be made for the Prince of the powers of the air, for him.

He scanned them all, flexing his abilities. He could see their souls, feel their every sin. _Lust, hatred, murder_. He could read their every thought. _Anger, pride_ \- every sin committed grew his strength. He raised his right arm high to still their shuddering adoration.

" _Victory_!"

Miles away, the people of a small Midwestern town trembled at the sudden chill in the air, snuggled further into their blankets, and tried desperately to pretend that there was no reason to be afraid.

Ruby watched from her vantage point high in the hills as Sam held court. He was gearing up for something big, that much was obvious. She could see the dark tendrils of his power winding through the camp, gathering energy from the hoard. Lilith stood at his side, that damned book clutched into her pale spindly hands. Ruby snorted in disgust. If Sam knew his brother was still in that book, he’d rip the bitch’s heart out through her throat.

If there was any Sam left in there to care.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean wasn’t surprised and only felt a little sick to his stomach when, after Bobby had gone inside to pay for gas and he had gotten out to stretch his legs, he turned to find Ruby leaning against the Impala with her arms crossed over her chest and a guarded, smug look on her face.

“The hell do you want,” Dean demanded, refusing to be polite. “And get your skanky ass off my damn car.”

Ruby didn’t move a muscle. Probably figured it was one more way to annoy him.

Why’d she have to be right all the time, anyway?

“I take it Bela didn’t have the Colt? I figured as much.” She placed one finger over her lips, pausing as though deep in thought, and then shrugged. “Oh well. Guess I’ll just have to look for it myself.”

“I told you, we’re done. I don’t need your kind of help.”

Her blue eyes narrowed, and the black ones behind them flashed in annoyance. “Ok, fine. Go after Lilith on your own. You can even take this.” She held out her hand to him, and without looking he knew what it would hold. He shoved his hands into his pockets and backed away an extra step, eyeing her with fresh suspicion.

“Why?” Dean was getting tired of all of these plot twists. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d seen a movie like this once. No way would Ruby ever give up the knife. He knew that for sure.

Ruby shifted the hilt of the knife back and forth, a methodic, practiced motion. “Why? Because I could never get close enough to use it, that’s why. Because he’s _guarding_ her, you idiot.”

Dean thought of the cards in his back pocket. _The fool is above the game._ “And you think I can get close enough?”

She shook her head, dark hair cascading in tight ringlets over her shoulders. “Not really, no. But you have a better chance than anyone else.”

Dean eyed the knife again, considering. Sam always knew what he was thinking, even before he became a psychic. If he got the chance to talk to Sam, he didn’t think coming into that conversation with murder on his mind would be the best way to go.

If the cards were right, then Sam wasn’t lost just yet. Dean would have to convince him to choose. To choose _Dean_. As much as he hated it, he’d have to go in armed with nothing but his faith in his brother.

Dean shook his head. “No.”

Ruby’s hand dropped slackly to her side, and her mouth worked silently in disbelief. “No?” she choked. “Dean, if you don’t kill Lilith you’ll never get back your _soul_.”

“I know. That’s not what I’m worrying about right now.”

“You’re not … why the hell not?”

“Because it’s none of your business, that’s why.” Dean retorted. In his periphery, a flash of light caught the door of the gas station store, and Bobby emerged, squinting against the glare.

She looked furious, but for once she didn’t argue. “Fine. It may interest you to also know that the Colt won’t work on Sam. Because I’m such a saint, I found a way for you to get a hold of someone who may be able to get you a weapon that might stand a chance.” She handed him a folded piece of paper, and he took it. “Feel free to use that, if you ever grow a pair and decide to embrace reality.”

Dean looked at the paper and tried to decipher the symbols there. “What is this suppo-” he started to ask, but when he looked back up to her, she was already gone.

 

~*~

 

“It’s a summoning ritual.”

“For who? I mean, for what?”

“I dunno, but it looks complicated. I reckon we can cheat a little with the blood part, but if you wanna be the one to talk to the thing, it’s gotta be your blood.”

“Of course it does.”

“This ain’t a good idea.”

“We need help, Bobby.”

“You don’t know what you’re gettin’ into!”

“It can’t be worse than what’s comin if we don’t check it out!”

“Fine. Just … be careful.”

 

~*~

 

Dean stood alone in the abandoned warehouse and wondered why these things always had to happen at midnight, and if he was the only one who thought that rituals were the only thing warehouses were good for.

Dean had a hard time quelling the uneasy feeling in his gut as he drew the cryptic symbols and lit the candles. The small voice in his head that kept assuring him he had no choice in this was being outshouted by a much more insistent voice that kept calling him an idiot.

Good thing he’d always been good at ignoring the voice of common sense.

Dean was completely detached as he drew the knife’s blade across his palm and let the large, bright drops of blood fall onto the arcane symbols. He didn’t have to wait very long.

“Well, if it isn’t Lazarus himself,” came an oddly familiar voice. “What can I do for you, Dean?”

Dean spun to look behind him and gaped just a little at who he’d called for help.

The Trickster looked offended. “What? Not who you were hoping for?”

Dean wanted to laugh. Suddenly it all made sense. Here was a creature that could create _anything_ out of thin air. Leery of bargaining with the thing, he kept his voice neutral. “You know what’s goin’ on with m’brother?”

The Trickster nodded, smiling wide. “I do. Went and got a bit of the devil in him, did he? Serves him right. He was always an arrogant bastard.” Dean ground his teeth in an effort to keep his tongue in check.

"Well, I need to stop him. And I think maybe you're the only one that can help me," Dean said. He didn't want to say it; he didn't want it to be true. He didn't trust this ... _creature_ , and he was already indebted enough. But he had no other choice, and nowhere else to turn.

"Wow, I'm flattered. I mean, really." The Trickster nodded as though he wanted Dean to know he was being serious for a change. "But here's the thing. Yes, I do have power," he paused in his pacing to echo back Dean's patented self-righteous smirk, "a lot of it, by the way ... But even I can't do everything."

Dean blanched at that. "But I thought you were a _God_!"

The trickster shrugged. "Sorry. Little 'g'."

"What?" Dean asked.

The trickster sighed, rolled his eyes, and made air quotes with his fingers right in Dean's face. "Little 'g', dude. This mess you chumps are in? That's _BIG_ 'G' stuff. All of it is - the human race, the demon war, Heaven, Hell and all that?" He dropped his hands, looking overly concerned. "Any of this makin' sense to ya there pal?" He crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels as he waited for a response.

Debt or no debt, Dean was finding it really difficult to squash the urge he was having to just stake the thing so this conversation would be over. "Ok, if you're so awesome, tell me how to take him down. I mean, there's got to be something, a weapon, an exorcism, something! I mean, are you saying you can't help me?" He stopped ranting at the sudden smug look on the Trickster's face. "What?"

"Oh, I already did. More than you know." He replied.

"What do you mean? When?" Dean stepped back, eyeing the Trickster cautiously.

"I already helped you with Sam. You see, I thought something like this might happen. I hear things, you know. I keep up on all the news - _gossip of the realm_ , and all that. I heard about your little deal the minute it went down. I've been watching you boys for a long time. So yeah, I already helped you out with Sam. All you need to do now is take advantage."

"How?"

"Little place called The Mystery Spot ring any bells?" The Trickster smiled a patronizing smile, leering towards Dean like he was a little kid. Dean could almost feel him taunting, _come on, figure it out, Sammy can't have gotten all the brains ..._

Dean choked back a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, but what does that have to do with -"

The Trickster cut him off. "I take it Sam never told you what really happened there, did he?" At the guarded look in Dean's eyes, he nodded confidently. "Ah." He shook his head, making a tsk tsk noise in Dean's general direction. "I should have known he wouldn't. So many secrets, so little time to live." He narrowed his eyes at Dean, appraising him. "Didn't you ever ask? Didn't you wonder what changed him, why he was so different after?"

"He wasn't different, he was just upset from it, that's all. You put him through hell!" Dean spat, old anger resurfacing.

 _"Really."_ The Trickster asked, sarcasm practically dripping off of every word. "He was the same to you? Let me ask you a question, Dean. Does being 'upset' make you a better hunter?" Dean just looked back blankly. "Come on! Didn't you sense it? How we went from 'pretty good' to a 100% kill rate overnight? The way he stopped showing pain? Fear?"

The Trickster cocked his head to one side, gauging Dean's reaction. " _Emotions_?" He leaned towards Dean, driving the words home. "Didn't you notice how steady his hands are when he pulls the trigger?"

Dean shook his head, a disjointed motion that made it seem like he was trying to clear his mind of static. "I don't understand," He whispered.

"Then let me draw you a map. _You died_ , Dean. You died on Wednesday morning, and Sam tracked my ass like the freaking Terminator until I brought you back." He revealed the secret with none of his usual glee. Instead there was a kind of dark memory in his voice. "It took him six months to find me, but man, he was right behind me all the way."

Dean flinched. One hundred Tuesdays plus six months alone equaled the better part of a year for Sam. Remembering how he felt without his brother shook him to the core, even now. He hadn't even lasted a week. _How did you do it?_ He thought, and then, _I always knew you were the strong one, Sammy._ He tried to ask why, how, but he choked on his own words. "He ..."

The Trickster fixed him with a steady glare. "He was brutal, Dean. Better than you, better than your old man _ever_ was. Anything that got in his way?" He pulled his finger across his throat, conveying the message. "Pft. _Gone_."

Dean's heart clenched. He knew it was true. Worse, it scared him. "Why would you do that? How does that help me now?" He demanded. _I just want Sammy back, the one who always fights with me over wrong and right, the one who likes to argue in the car and never eats his dinner and is just ... Sammy._ _The one I went to Hell for._

The Trickster answered swiftly, surely. "Because I needed him to know what life was like without you. He needed to learn that you are his one true weakness. It's why I pulled you out of Hell, Dean. It's in him now, that drive, that unstoppable anger that'd do anything to keep you safe."

He walked in close, put both hands firmly on Dean's shoulders, gripping tight. "You want to know the secret? You want to separate _Sam_ from _Samael_? Here it is, listen close."

Dean found himself holding his breath, hoping beyond hope that this wasn't some sort of game.

 _"Now you're Samael's greatest weakness, too._ And more important than that, you are _Sam's greatest power_. You, Dean. You'll be the only one who can get close enough to him to end all this." He stood back, familiar smirk playing across his face once again. "The answer you seek was with you all along, Dorothy. Don't worry about finding him - he'll find you." He held up his hand. "Now, get out of here and go save the world."

The s _nap_ of his fingers echoed around the empty room.

And then he was gone.

 

~*~

 

Bobby was still awake when Dean wearily pushed open the door to their room and dragged himself inside. He’d been going over what to say, but he couldn’t really think of anything brilliant, so it just came out, “Trickster. Killed me, before. Messed with Sammy.”

Bobby’s jaw damn near hit the ground as he stared, speechless.

Dean tried again, scratching the back of his neck distractedly. “Look, uh – point is, he didn’t have any weapons or anything, and … he says I’m the only one has a chance gettin’ close to Sam. So, we just gotta wait for him to come for me.”

“Dean –“

Dean threw out a hand, waving any further questions away. “Look, Bobby, I’m beat, can we talk about it tomorrow? Please?”

He knew Bobby wouldn’t deny him a few hours honest sleep. He probably looked like death warmed over. He huffed softly at the thought.

Bobby nodded reluctantly and Dean heaved a grateful sigh and headed for the bathroom. He’d think about it more tomorrow. For now, all he wanted was a few hours of blissful unconsciousness.

 

~*~

 

It came without warning in the middle of the night, the searing, ripping pain in his head, the sweaty shaking in his muscles. Dean's hands clenched and his knuckles turned white as they clutched the thin bed sheets. His body thrashed and moaned against the pain, struggling to break the grip of the images flitting through his mind.

The voices in his head radiated one feeling; urgency. _Sammy's afraid. Sammy needs me. Blood. Death. A nursery. A voice. 'Dean, help me!' Sammy's in trouble ..._ "Sam!" Dean sat up too fast, gasping for air as he called out his brother's name. He stood, stumbling over the bedside table. He just knew he had to _go_ , to get to Sam, but he didn't know where that was.

"Dean!" Bobby was by his side in an instant, bracing him against the motel room wall. "Dean, are you with me?" Dean clutched his temples, choking out a scream. He reached for Bobby, his hands frantically grabbing the other man's shoulders for support, bruising flesh with the intensity of his grip.

" _Sam_ ," He gasped, still clutching Bobby as he fell to his knees. Flashes, flashes of death and violence fell over him like a tidal wave. Screaming in agony, Dean rode with the wave until the flashes slowed to scenes, and the scenes to frames. Dimly he could hear Bobby calling his name, feel him shaking him by the shoulders, but he couldn't focus on Bobby. The blinding pain stopped so suddenly that Dean felt like he was rushing upwards; and suddenly he knew exactly where Sam had brought him.

 _Salvation._

Dean stared blankly as the images vanished, straining to catch a glimpse of anything that would help him know the devil’s plan. “Salvation,” he said.

“What?” Bobby eased Dean down onto the edge of the bed, where Dean reached shakily for his shirt, ready to get on the road. Bobby shook his head in confusion. “Now ain’t exactly the time to be getting’ all spiritual on me, boy.”

“Sam ha – sent me a vision. They’re headed for Salvation, Iowa. Come on. We gotta go.” Dean finished pulling on his shirt and reached for his jeans and boots. Bobby hadn’t moved, he was just staring at Dean with concern in his eyes. “Now!” Dean shouted.

Bobby moved.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam and his demons descended on the town of Salvation like locusts. They arrived just as the sun went down, the black smoke of their advance blotting out the rising night stars. Quietly they filtered through the town, taking possession of the inhabitants of every house.

Every house but one.

A freshly mowed lawn stretched out beneath Sam’s feet, leading to a dark, quiet all-American house. It had been two years since he’d visited this place. Faint memories, all but buried and fading fast, crossed his conscious mind. _Nobody’s dying tonight. Except that demon. That sonnuvabitch ain’t getting any older than tonight, you hear me?”_ Dean Winchester’s voice in his thoughts. Sam’s protector. It was like a mantra; constant and forceful. Distracting.

He swept the interior with his senses, searching for the child he had come to destroy. It was unlikely that Charlie and Monica had become fully aware of little Rosie’s powers. They had no reason to be afraid; no reason to think that their precious two-year old was in any further danger.

So it was a mild surprise that no one seemed to be home. He ground his teeth in frustration. No one _seemed_ to be home. He knew better.

“Stay back,” he commanded. “I’ll handle this on my own.”

He didn’t bother to disguise the sound of his steps. The weapons of man were crude things, and none were built to stop him. Quickly he climbed the steps to the nursery, and Sam Winchester’s memories guided him to where he needed to go. He could still sense the echoes of Azazel’s presence; it imprinted the house in a way that plaster and new paint could never cover. He stepped into the nursery, white eyes sweeping the empty bed disdainfully.

“They aren’t here, Sam.”

Sam turned towards the voice in the shadows. There was no mistaking it. “Dean. I thought I warned you to stay away.”

Dean leaned casually against the doorframe, hands in his jacket pockets as he regarded his brother steadily. “Yeah, well. You know me better than that.”

Sam growled, teeth clenched in fury at Dean’s interference. “Where are they?” he said.

Dean pushed off of the door frame with his shoulder and moved to stand firmly in between Sam and the nursery exit. “Somewhere safe.” He replied. Dean locked eyes with the creature for the first time.

There was no creature inhabiting Sam, simply sharing his space. The being in front of him _was_ Sam. Only … different. Stronger, more powerful. _Beautiful_. Only those hated white eyes gave Samael’s presence away.

Dean shook his head. He wasn’t here to banter with this _monster_. He had come to talk to his brother. “ _You_ called _me_ , Sammy. Don’t tell me you didn’t want me here.”

Sam’s eyes widened slightly, betraying the slightest hint of shock. “You’re lying.”

Dean stepped forward then, reaching his hand out slowly towards his brother in a gesture of trust. “How do you think I found you?” he asked. “Look for yourself. You can read my mind, right? I’ll prove it to you.” Dean’s skin crawled, every inch of him protesting as the devil drew nearer to him, looming over him, using his brother’s height to his fullest advantage. He felt the electric hum of the power coursing around him. He knew Sam could sense he’d come alone. Alone, and unarmed.

Sam smiled. “Yeah, I can read your mind, Dean. Know what you’re thinking right now?” Dean smiled weakly. Yeah, he knew.

“Oh, shit?” He fired back. No point in lying.

Sam laughed, but it didn’t quite reach those empty white eyes of his. Cold, dead eyes. “Damn straight.” he whispered. He moved until he was almost touching Dean. His gaze flowed smoothly over Dean’s face, and it landed briefly on Dean’s neck, and Dean felt the muscles there tighten under an invisible grip. “You don’t want me in your mind, Dean. It’ll tear you apart. Make you crazy.” He said, and for a moment he almost sounded worried.

Dean held his ground. He knew this could be his one chance, his one opportunity to stop Sam before the devil grew too strong for him; before he did something he’d never forgive himself for – if they lived through this. “I trust you.” He said, and he meant it from the deepest part of his captive soul.

Sam’s uncertainty vanished. “You _trust_ me? You’re a fool, Dean.” he hissed.

Dean smiled. _So they tell me._ “Yeah yeah, sticks and stones. You wanna get this over with already? You say you’re still my brother, and I trust my brother. And I have proof he called me here. This is your last chance, take it or leave it.” Dean was feeling the pressure around his throat. He wasn’t entirely sure Sam would let him leave, but it was so far, so good on the open hostility front.

Samael, Dean decided, did a decent impression of Sam’s annoyed little bastard face. “ _Fine_ ,” he said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Pressure clouded Dean’s mind, pushing inward slowly. His temples throbbed in protest, and his constricted throat burned as he gasped for air. Sam’s power leeched into his mind, sifting his thoughts like flour. His stomach lurched painfully as the images began to flow rapidly across his field of vision. It didn’t take long for Sam to find what he was looking for, and as Dean relived the vision, the indifferent, searching feel of the invasive power took on an angry edge.

“When did you see this?” the devil demanded. When Dean couldn’t respond, he shook him roughly, rattling his nerves. “ _When_?”

“Last night!” Dean gasped. The pressure withdrew from Dean’s throat and he drew in great swallows of air, hands resting on his knees, before looking up into his brother’s eyes. “What can I say,” he coughed, “Sam’s visions are never wrong. Looks like you lost yourself a kill.”

The monster howled in rage, released Dean from the grip of the power, and reached to grab him physically instead. He fisted the front of Dean’s shirt and lifted him easily, slamming him into the wall.

This time when the power breached his mind, there was nothing slow about it. It ripped into his consciousness, searing heat flashing through his skull. Sam was going to take it all. “You feel like you have to cheat, Sammy?” Dean ground out. “ _Fine_. Go ahead.”

 _Real bullets’ll work a hell of a lot better than rock salt._ As the memories played across his mind, he felt the sting of betrayal all over again. _I think you’re gonna die, Dean – you and every hunter I can find._ Dean felt the bullet pierce his skin, gasped as water entered his lungs.

“Remember that, Dean? Trust me _now_?” Sam turned his face away, shoulders dropping so slightly that Dean thought he was imagining things. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay away? Why can’t you just …” He trailed off, and Dean felt the power wane, and he was in control again.

Dean winced at the tone in his baby brother’s voice. Because it was Sam’s voice, even if it wasn’t _Sam_ , even if it wasn’t Sam’s _soul_. “C’mon, Sammy, you know I can’t.” he whispered. “Come on. Come with me. It’s not too late. We can still fix this.” He didn’t dare to move, he didn’t want to tip the balance between the two beings in front of him. He had to draw Sam out somehow. Sam’s face turned to stare at him, and Dean locked eyes with him firmly, offering no resistance.

He tried to project his deepest thoughts, the core of who he really was. “Look at me, man. I believe in you.” _When Dad told me that I might have to kill you, it was only if I couldn’t save you. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna save you._ Sam’s familiar features could have been carved from marble, he stood so still, head cocked to the side, listening to Dean’s thoughts.

“Sharing and caring, Dean? That’s not much like you.” He said, and his tone implied indifference, but he made no move to leave, either.

And Dean could still feel the power. Feather light touches filtered through his mind, not searching, just grabbing what he offered. _Keep your gutter soul, it’s too tarnished anyway_. Their connection strengthened as his brother focused on the memories, and to Dean’s surprise, latent memories of Sam’s began to cross the gap. _Let Dean out of his deal. Right. Now_. Dean flinched at the sound of the Colt firing, the sight of an innocent girl falling to the ground. _Because I couldn’t live with you dead_. He fired back. _I just need you to drop the act and be my brother again._ Sam stepped one step closer, almost as if he was listening harder.

Dean unlocked that final door, the one he sometimes thought he didn’t even have a key for, and sank inward, drowning in the emotion of his final moments, reliving what he’d felt that night the hellhounds had come for him. _I couldn't live without you, alright? I couldn't, I wasn't strong enough. I lived my whole life for you and if I had to do it again to bring you back I would, do you hear me?_.

His ultimate sacrifice – guided by love so strong that it had kept him moving towards the tree line, away from safety, away from life itself. _I'm sorry about the deal and everything that it put you through. But I'm not sorry that I did it. I'm glad it panned out, believe me I'm glad about that, but listen - you're my brother, and I love you. And I'm never, ever going to leave you again. That's a promise._

The man who wasn’t Sam flinched roughly, as though Dean had wounded him. Unguarded, Dean lost his breath in the onslaught of feelings that came back; despair, helplessness so deep and wide that it threatened to overwhelm him. Suddenly he was looming over Dean, almost close enough to touch with a flick of the wrist, and the power frantically dove deeper, reaching past Dean’s conscious thought to the painful, suppressed memories below.

Dean choked back a startled yell as he felt the layers peel away. The presence of Samael was everywhere, alien and familiar all at once, surrounding him, invading him, drowning him in the fiery liquid flow of power. “Show me,” Dean heard Sam’s voice say, but he didn’t know what he was looking for, he didn’t know how to help him find it.

“I … I, don’t – I, ah, I _can’t_ , Sam, stop,” he pleaded, panicking. His sanity was fraying, his brother had warned him, and God, he’d actually _asked_ for this.

It became all too clear what his brother was after soon enough. The first scent of smoke in his nostrils turned the contents of his stomach to acid. His eyes swam as the room grew dark; blackness so complete he’d thought he’d never see again filled his field of vision. And the fire. Fire tasting him, devouring him – screaming, he heard screaming, no, _he_ _was_ screaming and –

“I’m sorry,” came Sam’s voice, and it pulled him from the Pit as the power dropped him like a stone, and he fell weakly to the nursery floor, dizzy and covered in sweat, fine tremors running through his muscles. “Fuck, Dean. I’m sorry.” Dean focused his swimming eyes enough to see that Sam was trembling too, but it was hard to name the cause of it. “You never should have …” He turned away from Dean, clenching his fists deliberately. “Don’t you understand?” He whispered. “This is the only way I can keep you safe. I won’t let you go back there, Dean. I won’t.”

Dean scoffed at that. “You really are amazing, you know that?” He stood slowly, bracing himself against the nursery wall for support. “You think I care? You think that’s what this is about? Look around you, Sam! You’re leading an army of _demons_ , for God’s sake! You think this is your destiny? Screw that, alright!? Either be him, or be you, but you can’t have it both ways!”

Dean shook his head sadly, feeling more betrayed than ever. “Besides. My brother would never hook up with the whore that owns my soul.” He said.

Sam’s shoulders tensed instantly. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

Dean’s chest gave a satisfied lurch at the sight of the fine tremors running through the muscles of his brother’s clenched fists. Sam was just standing there, staring. For a moment, Dean felt like he was seeing double as his brother’s features blurred, for just a fraction of a second, and Dean thought he saw the slightest glimpse of hazel behind those wide white eyes.

And there it was, just like that. _Now you're Samael's greatest weakness, too._ _And more important than that, you are Sam's greatest power._ It was true. Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

It meant there was hope. It meant he still had a chance.

The devil turned then, giving Dean one last long look before stalking steadily to the door. Just before leaving, he said, “I’d suggest you stay here until we’ve all left.” His tone was even and low, and, devil or not, Dean knew what it meant. Sam was angry. Someone was going to pay.

Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And Dean? There’s no point in hiding them. I know where they are. I can sense them, you know – the other children, like me.” His voice took on a cold tone that chilled Dean to the bone. “Next time, don’t interfere.”

And with that he was gone, and Dean sank slowly back into the floorboards of Rosie’s nursery, buried his head in his shaking hands, and fought valiantly to hold on to his sanity for one more day.

 

~*~

 

Dean waited as long as he thought he could stand it before climbing to his feet and exiting the house. It felt like forever, and he was eager to call Bobby. He desperately wanted someone to talk to – anything to get his mind off of the memories that Sam’s power had stirred up.

Plus, he had a family to warn. They’d barely gotten them out in time as it was – they wouldn’t have gotten far. Bobby had fought like hell against the idea of Dean staying behind alone, but there’d been nothing for it. Once Dean had pointed out that Charlie and Monica would need someone with them to help keep Rosie safe, the older man had grudgingly conceded.

He reached the dark garage and hit the button. He winced at the noise the door made as it rose, but he didn’t see any movement in the driveway or the field across the street. He reached for his jacket pocket, palmed the Impala’s keys, and froze.

 _Knew this was too easy._

Dean felt rather than heard the footsteps behind him, accompanied by a chill and a shudder than ran all the way down his spine.

“What are you doing here, Dean?” came the thick, honeyed voice that haunted his nightmares.

Dean raised his hands to his shoulders, cautiously turning to face Lilith. He tried to keep his voice steady and his expression calm. He tried not to feel the dizzying surge of rage that came every time he so much as thought about her.

“Came to see my brother.”

“I told you, he’s not your brother anymore.” She cocked her head to the side, a familiar gesture that Dean took to mean she was trying to listen to his thoughts. She shook her head slowly in wonder. “ _Dean._ You can’t honestly believe that you can save him from me, can you? After all the things he’s done?”

“That’s not Sam.”

“That’s what I’ve been _trying_ to tell you, you stubborn, arrogant –“

“Oh, bite me.”

Dean hit the wall as hard as he ever had before. Pain shot up his back and into his head in sharp spikes, and he had to fight hard just to stay conscious.

But he had to fight even harder not to roll his eyes. “Wow, original.” he taunted. Lilith came into view with a satisfied smile curling on her lips.

“Well, I was the first, Dean. Original in every way there is.” Dean’s mouth dropped open, ready to fire off a witty rejoinder, but Lilith’s power wrapped around his arms and legs and spread him wide against the wall.

She trailed her hand across his chest, and he felt heat from her fingertips as her touch seared through his undershirt, laying his chest bare. She smiled low and dangerous, leaning in close. “Ever heard of original sin?” She whispered.

He was vulnerable, exposed. He tried to block the feel of her hands on his skin, her power rubbing up around him like an overheated electric blanket. “Get your filthy hands off me,” he growled. She only laughed at him. The sound reminded him of spiders weaving deadly silken webs in the dark. “Why is it you demons always gotta touch the merchandise? I mean, give a guy his privacy!”

“Oh, Dean. You really are something … _special_ , do you know that?” She shook her head, her full red lips turning to a thoughtful pout. “Of course you don’t.” she added. He seethed at the pitying tone in her voice. She reached into thin air, and from the shadows she drew out the Book. She tucked her body into his, bringing them cheek to cheek as she held the Book high so that he could see.

“Look, see?” She sounded as though she was speaking to a child. Dean struggled to move, fighting down the urge to be sick at the closeness of her. Her long finger lovingly traced the edges of the ancient tome as she flipped to the page she was searching for. “Ah, there you are,” she crooned with delight.

Dean’s eyes were drawn to the page immediately. His chest clenched in fearful anticipation as he searched the columns. In the third column, about halfway down the page, he found it.

 _Dean Winchester. May second, two thousand and eight._

It scrolled across the black page in bright crimson, and for some reason it cemented his situation that much more firmly in Dean’s mind. Even when he’d been in Hell, he’d never felt as damned as this. Lilith’s voice filtered slowly through his tunnel vision. “See?”

Dean forced a short, barking laugh. “Hate to break it to ya sweetheart, but that’s not my Hancock.”

“No,” she said, “but that’s your blood.” She moved then, lifting from the wall and coming to stare right in his face. “We get it when you check in downstairs.” Dean’s stomach turned at her bored expression as she flicked her delicate wrists and sent the Book _away._

“Fine, I’m in your little bedtime story, what now? Gonna take it all back?” His eyes narrowed. _Was that a flinch?_ An idea was forming deep inside, underneath all the pain and desperation. Maybe there was a way to get out of this after all – maybe there was a way to get them both out.

He planned his words carefully, dropping them like stones, gauging every detail of her response. “After all, I skipped out on you. Messed up your plan.” She had grown quiet, and the idea was getting stronger. “See, us humans, we can break the rules and screw the consequences. You demons – not so much, am I right?”

Angry heat rolled from Lilith, and the pressure holding him to the wall increased painfully. “Shut up.” She hissed.

Dean wanted to laugh. “Hey, I’m worried for you is all. This puts you in an awkward position.” He felt a smug, satisfied grin spread slowly across his face. “So? What’s the plan, Lil? Send me back to Hell, and Sam’ll feed you your intestines nice and slow.”

From the way her face paled, he guessed he wasn’t far off the mark on that. He didn’t want to believe Sam capable of such a calculated murder, demon or no demon, but there wasn’t time to worry about things like that right now.

“Stick to the contract, and Sam dies.” he pushed. “Huh. Bet that really puts a kink in your take-over-the-world plan, doesn’t it?”

She started violently then, and her palm began to glow brightly at her side. “I said _shutup_ ,” she hissed. Her fist clenched tightly over the pulse of power, and her arm shook as she tried to hold it in. “I _own_ you, and what I do with you is _my_ choice, no one else’s!”

Dean grinned brightly through clenched teeth as sweat began to bead on his forehead. For one blissful moment, he didn’t care what more she did to him. He just wanted to see her lose control.

“So do somethin’, bitch.”

She hissed in incoherent rage and raised her glowing palm, extending her arm towards Dean.

“I wouldn’t.”

Sam’s voice was pitched low and it reverberated smooth as silk off the darkened walls. Dean wasn’t sure if he should be relived or terrified at the way Sam was holding himself; loose and easy, relaxed. The average person may mistake the stance as non-threatening. Dean knew different.

Lilith froze in mid-reach, her white eyes wide and her skin growing even paler as she wilted underneath Sam’s dark gaze. Sam was staring at her with great interest, the corners of his mouth twitching into a somewhat bemused grin.

His eyes flicked to Dean for less time than the beat of a hummingbird’s wing, and the power holding Dean vanished instantly, dropping him heavily to the ground. Dean opened his mouth to protest the rough treatment, but thought the better of it when he looked at the pair of them.

It was like being a kitten in between two circling pit bulls.

Sam broke the silence first. “There you are,” he crooned, his voice sultry and sweet but his expression staying just the same. “I was looking for you.” There was no mistaking the threat being offered, at least not for Dean, but Lilith seemed to relax and dropped her glowing palm – light quickly fading – to her side. “You shouldn’t run off like that,” he murmured, “in your condition.”

She took a breath and settled herself. It reminded Dean of a bird ruffling its mussed feathers back into place. She smiled coyly, holding out her hand to Sam. “Dean and I were just discussing some personal business,” she said. “Why don’t you join us?” Her blood red lips pursed into a pout.

Dean groaned inwardly. _Lying skank_.

Sam never took his eyes off of Lilith, but his lips gave a small jerk and his dimples showed for a brief instant. All of the moisture in Dean’s mouth dried up. If Sam was still listening to his thoughts, then he was screwed beyond belief.

Sam held out his hand. Lilith moved to take it in her own, but before she could, Sam gestured slightly and the Book appeared in his broad palm. She froze instantly.

“Doing some reading? I love books,” Sam offered.

Dean suppressed the urge to snicker. Lilith took a step backwards.

Sam matched her step for step, following until she was backed up against the same wall she had been holding Dean captive against. “Is there anything in this book I should know about?” he asked.

She began to tremble then, and she shook her head a fraction of an inch. Sam’s eyes narrowed.

Suddenly the air around Dean took on an electric charge. Gravity was bending around him, crushing his chest. The air in the garage darkened, and the acid reef of sulfur assaulted his senses. He closed his eyes against the stinging sensation.

“Dean?” It was a command and a request at once, but Dean knew what it meant.

“Yeah, Sammy.” He choked out. _Please man, just come with me, don’t do whatever this is, we can still fix this._

If Sam heard him, he didn’t respond. Dark power began to flow from Sam, filling the empty spaces around them until Dean couldn’t breathe. Lilith’s face grew defiant. Dean knew instinctively that if he stayed for this little lovers spat, he would be incinerated.

“ _Leave_.” Sam growled.

Against all his better judgment, Dean left.


	10. Chapter 10

Bobby called Dean for what felt like the hundredth time before the kid finally answered the phone. The first thing Dean said was “Bobby, you ok?” which was flat out irritating considering the stomach ulcer he had brewing over worrying if _Dean_ was ok.

“Fine. Got Charlie and his family out of town, just like ya said. Sam show?” He heard Dean’s sigh of relief clear as a bell on the other line.

“You give them those hex bags I gave you?” Odd, Dean actually sounded nervous. Bobby’s stomach tightened at the sound. He mentally added _pick up more antacids_ to his list of things to do.

“Yeah.” _Stop avoidin’ the subject, boy._ “Did he?”

“What?”

“Damn it, Dean! Did Sam show! Did you talk to him? Are you ok? Don’t make me ask you again!” Another sigh, more resigned this time.

“Uh – yeah, he was here.” A thrill of adrenaline surged through Bobby, and he bitterly wished he wasn’t so damn old.

“And?”

“He’s – he …” Deep breath. “He’s still Sam, Bobby. Just, it’s harder to … get to him, is all. But he’s still Sam. We still have time.” Bobby didn’t think he was supposed to hear the whispered _I still have time_ that followed.

He cringed. “I hope you’re right, Dean. You come on and meet me now, like we talked about, and you watch your back, you hear me?”

“Yeah, ok. I hope so, too. Hey – I’ll meet you later, there’s something I wanna do first.” Dean sounded back on track, determination in his voice, but something else as well. Fear, maybe. Despair.

“Dean,” he warned, pitching his voice low.

“Later, Bobby.”

And then the line went dead.

 

~*~

 

Dean walked into the sanctuary just as most of the members were walking out. He hung in the shadows, watching them. Most of them were milling around, talking to friends and neighbors about what to bring to the potluck dinner or what time the carpool was coming in the morning to take the kids to school.

But a few of them sat in tiny groups of two or three, huddled quietly together in the dim light, speaking in low tones with earnest concern in their voices. Even through all of the happy chatter echoing around him, Dean clearly heard one of the women whisper as she reached out to hug her friend, _"I'll pray for you."_

 _I'll pray for you._ As the people filed slowly out the door and into the moonlit parking lot, Dean wiped the sweat from his shaking palms onto the thighs of his jeans. Sammy was the one that prayed. Sammy was the one who had _faith_. Dean walked softly down the thickly carpeted isle, worn thin in the center by long years of lost souls treading its path, seeking redemption. If there was ever a lost soul in the world, it was Dean.

He reached the altar steps and glanced around reluctantly, heart hammering in his chest. _Why is this so hard?_ He was relieved to find that he was alone save for one man who was gathering up the last of the offering plates. He suppressed a nervous curse when the man caught his eye; he didn't want to talk, he barely had the resolve to do this as it was. The Deacon just smiled gently. "Don't worry,” he said, and for a split second Dean _wasn't_ worried anymore. "Stay as long as you like. I'll leave the door unlocked for you." Without awaiting a reply the man picked up the plates, turned, and walked away.

Dean stood at the base of the steps for a long moment. He jumped when the lights went out, but a glance back towards the door showed the silver light of night filtering in through the parking lot. The man had kept his word; Dean was safe.

The darkness of the sanctuary made him feel better as he slowly breathed in and out, calming his racing heart. What he had come to say needed to be said, and there was no one else to do it. _I'll pray for you._ No one else in this dying world would dare to pray for Sam. No one else thought he could be saved. His heart heavier than perhaps it had ever been, Dean curled in on himself, dropping to his knees at the bottom of the altar. The silence of the sanctuary surrounded him, cutting him off from all other thoughts; erasing his mind of everything but this moment, this one crucial moment where he may find the answer he so desperately needed, or he may lose all hope for good.

The only light came from above him, the backlit stained glass window streaming silver-blue and golden beams down around his shoulders. A picture of the cross - the ultimate sacrifice. He bowed his head, looking at his calloused hands, feeling the threadbare carpet through the rips in his worn out jeans. Suddenly, he felt so unworthy.

"I, uh ..." He whispered. _Great start._ His hands trembled again, and he curled them into fists, resting them on the steps. He cleared his throat. _Come on Dean, you can do this._ "I guess I haven't really ... _talked_ to you before ..." the halting words came out one by one, and Dean winced at how much he sounded like a child. "See, the thing is, uh ..." He laughed, shook his head. _Out with it already._ "The thing is, my brother, he, uh..." Dean went completely still, concentrating so hard on the words that his eyes clenched tight.

"Well, I lost him, and I know, I know I don't deserve it, but ..." his throat began constricting as a lump began to form. _Sammy_. "but my brother, he believes in you, see, and he's - he's a _good_ person, better than anyone. I mean, anyone." As one by one the tears began to fall, Dean leaned over the steps, dropping his head into his forearms like he could shield himself from the truth. "I thought that I could keep him safe on my own. I couldn't. I did everything I knew to do, I made a deal with the devil, I went to Hell and Sam still turned, Sam's still gone, I couldn't protect him and it's all my fault. I promised, I _promised_ and I couldn't keep my promise."

The tears were flowing freely now, but so were the words, and Dean just let it all loose. "I don't even know if you're real. I don't know if you care, or if you're watching us. When Mom died, I didn't understand why, and I still don't. But Sammy told me once that he _wanted_ you to care, he needed a higher power to care about his destiny; he said I was just one person and he was right, I am just one person and I couldn't save him, I couldn't _save_ him." Dean gasped for air, shoulders shaking in the dim light of the glow coming from the cross.

"I need help," he cried. "I don't deserve it, I'm a killer and a selfish bastard, and when I made that deal I knew it didn't matter, it didn't matter because Sam would live, and the way I am, I always figured I'd be going to Hell anyway, you know? But I'm not asking for help for me, really - I'm not."

Dean was pleading now, but it just wasn't in him to care. "My whole life I've always just thought if I could see some hard proof, that I'd believe in you. Well, I still haven't seen it. But I know what I have seen; I've seen Lucifer, I've seen Hell and I've seen the end of the world coming like a tidal wave and if you really are out there - if you ever cared about Sammy, please, please ..."

 

His voice was a broken whisper, he'd never felt this vulnerable, or maybe this crazy, talking to thin air like it could help him keep the world from ending. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe the words had _power_ in this place. _I'll pray for you._ "Please, just help me save him. Show me the way. Help me end this. Please." He finished.

Slowly he rocked back into a kneeling position, hands limp on the floor as he raised his tear-stained eyes to the cross. He didn't know what he was waiting for.

Nothing happened.

Dean bit back a sob of frustration. He'd poured out his heart; would've poured out his soul too, if he still had one to claim, and all it gave him was a headache, a backache, and enough disappointment to choke a blue whale. He stiffened, hunter's instincts raising the hairs on the back of his neck as he heard a soft creak and footsteps from the church entrance. But then he relaxed as he recognized the Deacon's voice.

"Greater love hath no man than this - that he would lay down his life for his friend," he said softly. He approached Dean quietly and from the side, at an angle where Dean was sure the man couldn't see his face, and plainly showed he meant no harm. Dean turned his head to get a better look at the man, his face still wet with tears. Somehow, the tears seemed unimportant.

The Deacon wasn't looking at him. He was gazing with something like wonder in his eyes up at the softly glowing cross. The man's words slowly sunk in for Dean.

"Yeah, but ..." his voice was raspy, his throat ached from the abuse he had put it through. "What if it didn't make a difference? What if it doesn't count for anything? What good is love when you lose everyone you ever cared about?" _I'll pray for you._ Layla had said those words, too. Now she was just another casualty.

The man just smiled a sad smile. His eyes were compassionate, and it was like he knew Dean very well, even though they had never met before. "How do you know it didn't count?" It wasn't a patronizing question, it was a simple inquiry, but it made Dean's head spin.

"Because ... because my brother's gone, he's gone anyway and I don't think I can get him back alone." Dean responded weakly. _I'll pray for you_. "And I don't know what to do, and there's no one left to help me." Dean gestured to the shining cross. "Does he ... if he really loved like that, then why would he let this happen? Why couldn't he step in and stop it?"

The Deacon moved sit apart from Dean on the higher steps, the clear light bathing his shoulders as he looked down to the younger man. "Because He doesn't interfere with free will. He lets us make our own choices." He regarded Dean closely, as though he could _see_ the fragile state of his torn spirit. "Sometimes our choices, even if they are the wrong ones, can work for the better good if they are made with a pure heart." He smiled again, and this time the smile echoed encouragement and warmth.

Dean knew that this man didn't know what he'd done, but the words hit home all the same. He looked again to the cross. A feeling of peace was slowly spreading through his numb body, relaxing him. Making him feel whole. "But he didn't answer me. What did I do wrong? What do I have to say?"

The man shook his head. "He has said, 'If My people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray, and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from Heaven, and heed their call, and I will heal their land.'" He paused. "You don't have to say anything, Dean. He already knows your heart."

Dean blinked. The light behind the man was growing stronger. _I'll pray for you._ "How did you ..."

The man smiled again and stood, towering over Dean's kneeling form. "I came to tell you something, child. He has heard your prayer. He wants you to know that you have a purpose in this world. He wants you to know that you have value. He tells you to trust Him. To have faith in things unseen. He has a calling for you. Will you answer it?"

Dean looked down, away from the angel's bright face, trembling in awe and fright at the power of the being standing before him. He could barely breathe, but he managed to get out the words, "What does He want me to do?"

"The appointed time has not yet come for this world. You are one of the few who recognizes the peril. Will you fight this battle, Dean Winchester, for the Lord, and for your brother's soul? Will you go wherever it takes you, no matter what the cost?"

The words were simple; go do your job. To Dean, that was all he had ever done. But there had never been so much riding on him as there was now. _I'm not ready, I can't do this,_ he thought _._ But there was no one else. _You're his greatest weakness._ No one else could get close enough. _You're also Sam's greatest power._

"Yes," he said, and the promise fell from his lips like the weight of the world; it bound him to this new fate. He knew there was no turning back. He was ok with that. _Whatever it takes, Sammy._ With his admission he felt strength and warmth; _hope_ flow through his veins. "But I don't know where to go from here."

"You will have power when you listen for the Holy Spirit, and you will know your direction. Do not be afraid. The Lord of hosts is watching over you." The angel held out his hand, and a long, shining golden sword appeared there. He shifted it and handed it to Dean hilt first.

“This is the sword that first struck down your adversary. Wield it wisely.” Dean took the sword reverently, a thousand partial thoughts spinning through his mind. It was light but strong, and it pulsed softly with an inner light.

Dean raised his eyes just in time to see the angel begin to vanish, melting into the glow of the glass.

"Wait!" He called, "who are you?"

Almost as if it was on the wind, a voice whispered back from across Heaven's plane ...

 _Michael_.

And then Dean was alone in an empty church, a dark stained glass window and an open creaking door his only company, only this time, he didn't _feel_ alone anymore.

 

~*~

 

The motel door clicked softly shut behind Dean. He glanced at the glowing numbers on the face of the clock; it was past midnight, but somehow Dean wasn’t surprised to see Bobby sitting in the room’s only chair, shotgun resting lazily across his knees. His eyes were closed, but Dean knew better.

“Where you been?” came the gruff enquiry.

“Uh … I,” Dean faltered. He wasn’t sure how exactly to break the latest news. Bobby opened his sleepy eyes to regard Dean suspiciously, and when his hands tightened around the shotgun and he blew a hissed curse through his lips, Dean saw that he wasn’t going to need to.

“What happened?” Bobby all but shouted, leveling the shotgun instantly in Dean’s general direction. Dean threw out his hands in protest.

“Woah, easy, alright? It’s me, dammit. Put the gun down!” Dean took a step backwards nonetheless. He’d seen Bobby on the business end of a shotgun plenty of times, and he wasn’t about to push his luck.

“You …” the older man sputtered, “you’re … _glowing_.”

That wasn’t what Dean had expected to hear at all.

“What?”

“Go see for yourself!” Bobby pointed a shaking finger towards the mirror.

Dean crossed the room in two steps, feeling the shotgun at his back the whole way, tracking him. He stopped short at the sight of his reflection, tingling sensations in his back all but forgotten. His fingers raised up slowly to ghost across his face.

“Woah.” He wasn’t so much projecting the glow as he was _containing_ it. Dean’s eyes shone bright, his skin was almost luminescent, as if his body was trying to hold back a brilliant show of colors.

“Dean, what did you do?” Bobby’s voice barely registered in the background as Dean continued staring.

“I hope this isn’t permanent.” He whispered.

“Dean!”

“Seriously. This would _not_ go over well in public.”

“DEAN!” Bobby’s voice finally broke through the fog, and Dean jumped a little, surprised to see the older man still sitting awestruck in the chair, still aiming the shotgun.

“What?”

“Where the HELL have you _been_?” Bobby’s eyes widened with exasperation, and Dean figured he’d better answer before the next thing that came out of his mouth resembled something to the effect of _it’s like talkin’ to a brick wall_.

“I, uh – I went to church.” Dean lowered his hands to his sides and raised his eyebrows in anticipation of Bobby’s response.

“You …” the shotgun lowered, and confusion flashed across Bobby’s face. “You went … you went to _church_? What the …”

Suddenly Dean couldn’t wait anymore for Bobby to figure it out on his own. He felt like the inner light he’d gained was bursting out, rushing to share the news.

“Bobby – you won’t believe me man, but … Bobby – I saw an angel.”

He was prepared for more shocked silence, maybe a disbelieving laugh; he certainly wasn’t expecting Bobby to throw the gun to the bed, cross the room faster than Dean would have ever thought possible, grab him roughly by the collar and start yelling Latin into his face.

In retrospect, he probably should have been expecting that last reaction, because, hello, Bobby.

“Hey! M’not possessed, you bastard, get off me!” Dean yelled, and he shoved Bobby, hard. Bobby stepped back, staring at Dean liked a caged animal. Dean had had enough emotional overload for one night, and he welcomed the return of _anger_ like an old friend. Anger, he could do. “I’m tellin’ you, I saw an angel. He came when I prayed. Brought me this.”

Reverently, carefully, Dean unwrapped his jacket from around the sword. Bobby’s eyes shifted to the sword and widened. Dean couldn’t fault the guy for not noticing before; he was _glowing_ , for the love of –

“Is that what I think it is?” Bobby croaked.

Dean blinked. “Y – you _knew_ about this sword?” Months they’d been looking for a weapon they could use, _months_. Months that bitch had her creepy, spindly-fingered hands on his brother. He tried to reign in his sudden rush of rage. Logically he knew there was no way Bobby would have known the sword was something they could get their hands on. Still … “Michael’s sword! You knew?”

Bobby slumped down onto the edge of the bed, face radiating wonder and disbelief. “I never would have thought … not in a million years …”

Dean felt his hurt feelings evaporate. “Hey, you’re not gonna pass out on me, are ya?”

“How’d ya get it?”

Dean smirked. “I asked.”

Bobby laughed out loud at that, and Dean laughed at Bobby laughing, and maybe they both were just laughing because they’d completely lost it, but hey – Dean had just seen an angel, he was standing in a motel room with a mythic sword that he was supposed to somehow use to stop his brother – the devil – from taking over the world, and he was friggin _glowing_.

Everyone deserves a little insanity here and there. Dean figured at this point, he’d earned it.

 

~*~

 

One month after Dean received the sword, Dean and Bobby reluctantly agreed to split up. Ever since Salvation, Sam’s demons had been busy, moving around the country quickly. Their victims seemed too unconnected to each other, and the pattern was too widespread for cops to catch wind of what was really going on.

Hunters knew different.

Bobby began to hear from contacts he’d lost track of years ago. Old rumors had resurfaced quickly in the wake of the earthquake, and the small community of warriors was on high alert. Dean could almost hear their whispers on the air.

 _Sam Winchester, remember? A few years back, he opened up the Devil’s Gate and let the bastards loose; runnin’ with ‘em now, I hear. We gotta band together. We gotta take him out._

“Being around me is dangerous, Bobby.” Dean had said one night after the older man closed his phone, eyes tight with worry at the suspicious tone of the voice on the other end. “If they decide you’re on our side, they’ll come after you. Look – we haven’t even been able to catch up to him one time,” he added, bitterness in his voice. “I’ll call you if I get a lead, a real lead, ok?”

Bobby had frowned, but he nodded sharply. “I’ll try to throw ‘em off the trail a little; give ‘em something they can chase.” He promised.

Dean nodded, wordless appreciation brimming in his gaze. They’d packed in silence and gone their separate ways.

Now, Dean sat in the lobby of the Holiday Inn, Sam’s laptop perched across his knees, thinking. Everyone who’d ever known or come into contact with their mother was dead or missing. All of the psychic kids Dean had known of had died in Cold Oak, with Sam. He’d tried to track their families with little success.

He thought of warning hunters he knew, but Bobby had taken care of Ellen and Jo first thing, and Dean didn’t know anyone else to call. B  
eing the brother of the man that was the Antichrist probably wasn’t going to make him the popular kid in school, anyway.

Sam’s laptop felt odd underneath his fingertips as he typed. If he closed his eyes, he could see Sam sitting moodily at the computer, talking about some scientific fact he’d uncovered, or trying to hide his porn.

Instead, Dean used Sam’s laptop, and it showed him picture after picture of victims who had fallen to Sam’s army. More bodies were discovered all the time. As the weeks ticked on, the death toll grew higher and higher.

Dean spoke with Bobby often, and he was relieved to find that Bobby had connected with the underground; a small group of hunters spaced across the country. When a demonic sign appeared, whoever noted it first would call the rest, and the person closest would respond.

Sometimes they got there in time to save somebody.

Most of the time they got there just in time to watch the light go out in the victim’s eyes and clean up the mess.

Sam was never there when they arrived, Bobby told Dean. Neither was Lilith, and the hunters didn’t seem to know too much about her.

“The less they know the better. I’ll keep you posted on where everybody is.” Bobby told him one afternoon.

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean said. He’d really meant it.

“Figure out the sword yet?”

Dean made a sarcastic face at the phone before he remembered Bobby couldn’t see him. “Well, I know how to swing it if that’s what you mean.”

“No more glowing?” Bobby sounded really damn amused.

Dean laughed. “No glowing. Guess I have to talk to him in person.”

“Whatever MacLeod, you just watch yourself, you hear me?” Dean had laughed and promised that he would.

Dean sighed in frustration and shut the laptop, feeling like he should go eat. He looked restlessly at the calendar, his mind ticking off the days. October now. They were never going to find Sam if he didn’t want to be found, and he felt like he was running out of time.

 

~*~

 

Safely back inside his room, he hid from the world and sat on the bed, staring blankly at the cool metal of the sword resting next to him. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. He didn’t think he could catch up with Sam. He was going to have to head him off – somehow.

He reached out and brushed the handle of the ancient sword with reverence. It was light and fast, and the blade never dulled. Idly he wondered if he could keep it after everything was over.

As his skin made contact, a warm sensation ran up his spine, like tingling power. _Now_ _Dean_ , it said. _Go. Go now._

He gasped and withdrew his hand, but the feeling remained. “Go where?” he asked. Deep inside him, the conviction grew.

 _Home._

Dean blinked. _You will have power when you listen for the Holy Spirit, and you will know your direction,_ the angel had said. Certainty formed solid in his gut and he grabbed up the sword and reached for his duffel.

It was the first solid lead he’d had in months, and whether it came from a non-voice he was hearing didn’t matter to him. He finally knew where to catch up to Sam.

He packed quickly, loaded the Impala, and gunned the car towards Lawrence.


	11. Chapter 11

It was only the second time he’d come back to Lawrence. It had a strange kind of feel to it, like it just seemed _right_ that Sam’s destiny would both begin and end here. The small town had always lived close to him in the back of his mind, like a dark whirlpool of misery he would never quite escape.

The air was tight around the city, feeling heavy and wet in spite of the winter cold. There was no snow on the ground, and a strange breeze blew across the landscape. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say they were in for a blizzard.

What they were really in for was much, much worse. He had to warn the few people that would believe him while there was still a chance.

He headed straight for Missouri Mosley’s house. When he rounded the corner and pulled up into the drive, she was waiting for him, bags packed and the car already loaded. Readying a second car behind her in the garage, Dean could make out the shapes of a few more people.

Jenny, he recognized, and her two kids.

He smiled. He should have known the psychic would be ready.

She was waiting for him with immense sorrow in her eyes, and when he stepped out of the Impala she pulled him in for a tight embrace. He stiffened. “Uh … hey.” He mumbled.

Missouri leaned back, breaking the hug and craning her neck to look up into his face. “Hello, Dean. I’ve been expecting you.”

“So I saw.” He answered, attempting a smile. “Guess you heard – saw – what’s comin’.”

She closed her eyes, focusing on things that Dean didn’t want to imagine. “Death,” she whispered. “Evil. Monsters rising from the dark.” Tears slipped out from underneath her eyelids and she wiped them away in frustration. “I’m so sorry, honey.” She backed away from him then, like being near him was frightening to her. “I’m sorry about Sam.”

Dean nodded tightly. Fear fluttered low in his gut. He had to ask. “Can I save him?”

She held out her hand, palm facing upwards. Her eyes grew hard with determination, like she was steeling herself for what she might see. He didn’t hesitate. He placed his hand over hers and waited.

After a long moment she broke away shivering. Sweat had broken out along her neck despite the winter chill. “I’m not going to lie to you, boy. Sam is dangerous.” She smiled a wistful smile and reached up to pat his cheek. “But you’re a Winchester, and that makes you stubborn as they come in my book. Baby, if anyone can save him, it’s you.”

He grinned. Good to know some people never change. “Thanks, Missouri.”

“You’re welcome, boy. Now go on, get movin’. Jenny left you some food in the fridge.”

Dean nodded in understanding, and then handed Missouri a scrap of paper with Bobby’s number on it. “Call Bobby Singer,” he said. “He can hook you up with the underground. They’ve got places you can hide until it’s over.”

She accepted the number. “You be careful, Dean.”

“I will Missouri, and thanks again.”

Jenny waved to him from the garage, and he waved back. He climbed back into the car and threw it in reverse.

There was nowhere left to go but home.

 

~*~

 

Dean parked the car in the garage and put a ring of salt around it, just in case. He left the door unlocked and the keys inside. If he needed to make a break for it, she’d be there waiting for him.

Hefting the sword from the backseat, he headed inside. The house was dark and quiet, and the front door was unlocked. Dean took in the living area in wonder. Jenny and her family had turned the place into a home. Pictures lined the hallways, little macaroni drawings adorned the fridge, and there was clutter around the base of the stairs. Dean felt his throat constrict. Someone had _lived_ here. For a couple of years, someone had lived here, and they’d been happy.

He gripped the sword tightly and he felt the metal respond, heating warm inside his palms. He bowed his head, focused. “Ok,” he whispered. “What now?”

His phone rang, echoing off of the darkened walls of the house, and he nearly dropped the sword. He fumbled for the keypad. “Hello?”

“Missouri just called me. Anything you’d like to let me know?” The voice on the other end sounded _pissed_.

“Bobby.” Dean stood and restlessly began to pace, wearing a path into the floor near the front door.

“The hell are you doin’, boy! There ain’t no reason to stay behind and get yourself killed.” The older man insisted.

“Bobby, Sam’s comin’, man, I know he is. I gotta stop him. I’m the only one that can, and you know it.” He answered, wishing he sounded more sure of himself.

“I’m comin’ out there.” No room for argument.

“No! Wait! Bobby, no. You can’t. He’ll kill you.” Dean paused, choosing his words carefully. “I can’t – I can’t focus on Sam if I’m worried about you.” he admitted. He knew Bobby would take it just about as well as he took it from his father, but it was the truth. Talk about hindsight being 20-20.

“You sound like John.” Bobby said tightly. “It was crap then and it’s crap now. You can’t do this alone, and I’m comin’.”

“Bobby, man – you can’t” He breathed, tingles running down his spine. The sword pulsed in his hand, and the lone lamp that was on flickered from the kitchen. The impression this time was twice as strong.

 _Move. Move NOW._

“Give me one good reason, Dean!” Bobby yelled.

Dean turned and headed upstairs as fast as he could run. “Because. He’s already here.” He clicked the phone shut and gained the second floor. He rushed into Jenny’s room and crept up to the window.

The advance of Sam’s demons had been completely silent. Dean fought down panic at the sight of their sheer numbers. A great smoking cloud billowed over the neighborhood, blotting out the afternoon sunset. Walking forcefully down the middle of the street was a small group of demons that had human hosts. One form stood head and shoulders above the rest.

It was Sam.

Underneath the blackened sky, Dean could make out Sam gesturing, and the pillars of demonic clouds split off into every direction, blanketing the city.

Lilith’s slight form stood at Sam’s right hand. A small group remained with the pair as, satisfied, Sam turned and headed straight for the house.

 _Outnumbered_ , came the unbidden urge inside. _Hide_. _Wait_.

“Wait for what?” he growled. There was no answer, but he couldn’t deny the urgency. Cursing under his breath, he moved into the nursery. He entered the closet and pulled aside the clothes hamper. Swinging the sword’s pommel roughly, he knocked a hole in the plaster at the base of the wall. “Sorry,” he muttered. It wasn’t like the angel had made him sign an insurance form on the thing. If it got scratched, then, well. He had bigger problems.

He slid the sword into the wall space and pulled the laundry hamper firmly back in front of it. When he came out and shut the closet door, he had just enough time to step to the side before the nursery door opened and he was standing face to face with Sam.

Sam didn’t see him. He was turned to the side, ushering Lilith in carefully, holding her arm at the elbow. She saw him first and she froze, eyes wide. Sam’s head snapped up and he locked eyes with Dean.

Dean frowned. He hadn’t expected Sam to be surprised.

Sam stepped protectively in front of Lilith, one hand splayed to the side, covering her. “How did you get in here?” He demanded.

Dean was struck speechless as he looked at his brother. His presence filled the room with electricity, and Dean could almost see the crackling power running underneath his skin. He seemed taller, bigger – he carried himself at his full height, confident in a way that Dean had rarely seen Sam before. His hair was long and dark, and contrasted sharply with the white surfaces of his eyes. He emanated danger and fear, every breath purposeful and calculating.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

“I told you to stay away,” Sam growled. “you really should have listened.” There was no hesitation in Sam’s stance. He threw out one hand towards Dean as if to throw him to the wall, and Dean saw the air in the nursery _ripple_ as the dark wave of power rushed forward.

He threw up his arm to cover his eyes, bracing himself against the blow that never came. It seemed like slow motion as the current diverted smoothly around him and dissipated into the air, leaving a shimmering bubble of light burning in his retinas.

He stared at Sam, and Sam stared back, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Lilith snarled and stepped forward, moving to add her own power, but Sam grabbed her and pulled her up short.

“No, stop.” He hissed. “He’s done something.”

Behind Sam, the smaller group of demons began to filter into the nursery, forming a loose ring around Dean. Sam moved Lilith to the rear, as far away from Dean as possible. “I want you to leave,” he told her. “I’ll catch up soon, ok?”

Dean swallowed hard, fighting the urge to be sick as Sam stroked the side of her pale cheek with the tips of his fingers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Suddenly he realized what he’d been missing before. Lilith looked different.

She smiled, low and deadly, and dropped her hand to her swollen belly, clasping it around Sam’s hand that already rested there. “Alright,” she whispered. “Don’t be long.” She tossed Dean a wicked smile. “Try not to ruin his pretty face.”

“No way,” Dean rasped, ignoring her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sam smiled then, taking in the room around him. “What, no congratulations? I’m wounded.” He put his hand over his chest in mock indignation. “This is _my_ house, Dean _._ This is where I was born, and this is where my children will be born.”

Lilith smirked, ran a hand fondly through the long tangles of Sam’s hair, and whisked out of the room. A few of the demons followed her, but not nearly enough to give Dean the edge he was looking for.

Sam dropped the gentleman act the second she was gone. “I said I wouldn’t send you back to Hell, Dean.” He spat. “I never said I wouldn’t kill you. You could have fought with me. You could have had – Dean, power like you’d never _believe_. You could have been a powerful ally. But you threw it away.” He edged closer, looming in the dark. His voice was deep and rough with rage.

“You had to go to _them_.” He spat. “They want to _kill_ me, Dean. Kill my family. Is that what you want?” Dean found himself stepping back from the intensity of Sam’s anger. He shook his head.

“I asked for a way to help you, Sammy.”

“Tell me the truth!” Sam shouted, and the window behind Dean shattered, glistening shards falling out into the unnatural smoky light. From out in the streets, Dean could hear the sound of people screaming and smell fire and ash as homes began to burn. “You made a pact, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU!”

The whole house shuddered. Dean’s heart jumped into his throat. He hadn’t been prepared for something like this. “I just want to talk, I just –“

“No. You really don’t.” Sam moved back to the door, and the demon’s circle drew closer. “You’ve done nothing but interfere. From now on, you’ll stay where I can keep an eye on you.” He relaxed, and his tone was conversational. “Also, you know where the hunters are, and you’re going to help me find them.”

Dean straightened, looked his brother in the eyes, and forcefully said, “No.”

Sam bristled but he didn’t make a move. His eyes never wavered from Dean’s, but his voice rose, powerful and commanding, as he addressed the demons at his side. “I give you free reign with the Cleric.” he said. “Be careful not to underestimate him. He is shielded from your powers. Use … other methods. Find out what I want to know.”

Suddenly Dean remembered Kyle Gray. He’d been the one. But Sam had killed him first, and suddenly Dean had been there to pick up the mantle. Everything clicked into place. Sam hadn’t sensed him. Sam’s powers couldn’t touch him. Sam couldn’t read his mind anymore. He was protected; safe.

Which meant that they had to break him if they wanted him to talk. Dean’s jaw clenched in determination, his green eyes grew storm dark. “Bring it on, you bastards.”

Dean was backed up against the wall. He could feel the call of the sword singing through his veins, just underneath his skin, but it was no use. It was too far away. The demons stepped closer, their host’s faces stretched thin; cheap veils to cover the twisted mockery of humanity underneath. He _felt_ their evil taint pressing against his newfound immunity. They couldn’t possess him, and they couldn’t touch him with their powers.

But their snarling fangs and blackened claws said they could still rip him to pieces.

Sam was keeping his distance, maybe smart enough to realize that the rules of the game had changed. He smiled, never taking his eyes from Dean’s as he spoke. “You picked the wrong side, Winchester. “ His voice was low and smooth, flowing like mercury, sinking inside Dean, threatening to rip him apart. “I have _had_ it with your constant lack of respect for me. It’s time you learned who’s in charge around here.”

Dean was pinned, wide open; the leering demons were too close. He was exposed, vulnerable. His heart hammered through his chest, but he damn sure wasn’t about to beg. He clamped down hard on the fear struggling to rise from the pit of his stomach. He’d been to Hell and back, and nothing they could do to him would possibly be worse than that.

“Find out what he knows.” Sam ordered. Like hunting dogs newly unleashed, the demons moved forward, jaws slavering in anticipation. “Do whatever you have to do,” Sam said coldly. “just watch getting blood on my carpet.”

 _Shit_ , _SHIT_.

Sam left them with one last warning. “Remember, he belongs to your Mistress. She doesn’t like other people touching her things. Mark him if you have to, but if he dies –" Sam met their glances one by one, and they all shrank back from the intensity of his gaze. “you die.”

As a group they all fell to the floor, bowed their heads and chanted in one voice, “So shall it be.”

The door slammed shut with a finality that startled Dean. Sam was gone. He couldn’t believe it. Sam was gone, Sam was _GONE_. Locked into the maelstrom of emotions, he forgot to take notice of the circling demons until it was too late.

One demon stepped forward in eager anticipation, holding a loosely coiled object in one hand. There was something familiar about the jaunt of her hips, the way she was smirking. The others fell in behind her, content to let her take the lead.

Dean recognized her. Anger rushed quickly to his aid, pushing a little of the crippling fear away. He rolled his eyes in a gesture of extreme annoyance. “Hiya, Meg. Long time no see. Sorry it took me so long to get to you – you were next on my list of sluts whose asses I need to kick.” He smiled slowly, giving her his most sincere _fuck you_ grin.

The others shifted as one, affronted by his disrespect, but Meg just laughed and shook her head. “I gotta say, I missed that Winchester charm, Dean.”

“Oh yeah? No problem sweetheart, I got plenty.” He drawled easily.

“Oh, I know.” She nodded seriously, slowly uncoiling the whip and rolling her shoulders to loosen up. “See, I think you’ve got a real god complex, Dean. Think you’re the savior of mankind. Only a Winchester would be that arrogant, after all.” She smiled sweetly, enjoying the sight of Dean eyeing the whip with relish.

“Hey, awesome. You got the newsletter.”

Dean’s muscles tensed in anticipation, and he got ready, running a quick mental count. There were seven demons not including Meg. She was the only one who seemed to be armed, but that wouldn’t make much difference, and he knew it. Even without the added edge of their powers, they would still be _strong_.

But no way was Dean Winchester going down without a fight.

He rushed the nearest demon at the same time as the smallest one jumped for him. He swung hard, and the demon went down from his right hook. The smaller, faster one tackled him from behind, grappling for his arms as they both tilted towards the floor. He ducked low, throwing an elbow into his attacker’s ribcage, and laughed out loud at the satisfying _crunch_ that echoed back.

The smaller demon fell away, but when Dean regained his feet another one was waiting. The glittering black eyes of the monster locked with his own, and before either of them could blink, the demon threw a powerful palm strike straight to Dean’s solar plexus.

He felt the wind leave his lungs and the delayed shock of impact filtered through as a heavy object made contact with his skull. He was dragged roughly to his feet and slammed up against the wall face-first. He struggled, but he could feel several sets of hands pinning his arms into place.

“Can’ya, thinkofa new … thing already,” he slurred, gasping for air.

Blinking hard to focus on the baby blue paint of the nursery right in front of his face, he nearly missed the sound of Meg’s soft laughter. “Why bother when the old methods work so well?” she asked.

He definitely did _not_ miss the soft whistle of the flick of the whip as it sang through the air, licking back and forth like a viper, stretching its cords in a warm-up move. He could hear the dark edge in Meg’s satisfied voice. “You think you’re a savior, Dean? Fine. Then I’ll treat you like one.”

The first _crack_ landed squarely between his shoulder blades, and the fabric of his jacket was ripped in two. Fire blossomed across his body and he arched violently against his captor’s hold, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out in agony.

The second stroke drew bright, welling blood from bare muscle, and a deep moan escaped his lips.

By the third lash, he was screaming.

After a full thirty seconds, darkness claimed him and he knew no more.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean’s mind was fuzzy like it was wrapped in cotton balls, and his arms were completely asleep above his head. The tips of his boots barely touched the concrete floor of the cell, and it was getting hard just to breathe. The sway of his body as it hung was dizzying, and the manacles holding his wrists to the chain on the wall were tight enough to bruise.

It may have been just hours, or it may have been days, he had no way to tell in the inky dark. At least he was in solitary – no bars. He didn’t want to have to see the brutish face of the demon guarding his cell anymore. They’d gotten plenty acquainted during the scuffle.

Dimly his ears picked up another voice speaking softly to the guard. It sounded female. He wryly wondered if Meg was here to torture him some more – after all, they had already played with whips and chains, now all that was missing was the hot wax and whipped cream …

The female demon stepped into his cell swiftly and closed the door behind her, setting down what looked like a food tray in the corner. Shadows covered her face in the dim light, but Dean felt his knees go weak with relief at the familiar, annoyed tone of her voice.

“Hey dumbass. You ready to fly this chicken coop?”

“Ruby, I don’t care how disgusting you look, you come over here and I’m gonna kiss the crap outta you.” He exclaimed.

“Oooh, promise?” He heard her soft snort of laughter and grinned at the dripping sarcasm in her words.

He struggled to hold his weight as Ruby began fiddling with the heavy padlocks holding the chain off the floor.

“We gotta get you out of here, _now_.” Ruby whispered. “What happened? I thought you’d be safe.”She grunted in frustration as the chain refused to budge.

“It’s Sam. He’s … changed. I can’t get through to him anymore. And the bitch, she’s –“ Dean gagged. He couldn’t help it. It was so, so _wrong_. So wrong to picture a child with Sammy’s smile and feel proud, even though it was going to be a monster.

“Dean, what?” Ruby paused to pin him with her stare.

“She – she’s pregnant.” Even in the shadows Dean could see Ruby’s face lose the rest of its color.

“He’s turned,” she spoke quickly. “Samael’s power is imprinted with his essence. The more Sam uses it, the less human he becomes. If you can’t get through to him then it means Samael is back. For good this time.” She cursed, reaching into her pocket for a different lock pick as her words sank slowly into Dean’s numb mind.

“Hurry!” he hissed.

“Shutup, you think it was easy getting in here?” The chains came free with a _clank_ and Dean fell hard as his legs gave out from lack of use. Unable to fully stand right away, he hauled himself up into a crouch and rubbed his sore wrists carefully. He stifled a groan at the fire burning all down his back. He was beyond stiff; he could feel every cut pulling against his skin.

Ruby’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothin’ we can’t handle.” He lied.

“Liar. Let me see.” She demanded, walking around to kneel at his shoulder. Resigning himself to a more subtle kind of torture, he winced and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as he lifted what was left of his tattered t-shirt over his head and discarded it in a bloody heap on the floor.

She hissed. He felt the sting of even the lightest pressure as her fingers explored his skin, assessing the damage. “Damn. These need stitches.” She blew out a sigh, casting a wary glance towards the door. “No time now – we have to go.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” he answered. Adrenaline was starting to flow now that his blood was properly circulating again. He’d just have to count on it to see him through for a few more hours. “So what’s the plan?”

“We take ‘em both out.” Ruby said. Her tone left no room for argument.

“What? No.” he protested weakly. He couldn’t shake the image of Sam in his mind. The dark power, his unfeeling dismissal. _Sam_ would never turn him over to be tortured or worse. _Sam_ would never let that whore own him.

The thing he’d seen in their old house hadn’t been Sam. It hadn’t been Sam at all.

“Dean, Lawrence is burning. Everyone in this town is dead already. You want this to spread? There’s a Gate here, you know. Apocalypse zero, right here. I’m sorry, Dean – but there’s no way out of this one.” She held out a hand to him, prompting him to get up.

Dean eyed her carefully. All of the cards were falling into place. The Tower had foretold the opening of a Devil’s Gate. And she was right; Lilith had to go. And so did the chi … _whatever_ it was she was carrying inside her. _Demonic children, take-over-the-world types_ , reminded Bobby’s voice in his head. Dean’s skin crawled with revulsion at the thought.

Again he was surprised that the revulsion wasn’t directed towards the child, but towards the thought of killing it.

But there was also the Wheel, and it said they still had a chance. And Dean was the ace in the hole. _If you can’t save him, Dean … you have to kill him._

Dean grabbed Ruby’s hand and levered himself up slowly.

“Yeah, ok. Let’s go.”

They didn’t have time to argue right now. But there was no way in hell that Dean was going to kill his brother.

Or any part of him.

 

~*~

 

As it turned out, the demon guarding his cell was just as weak as Dean had previously expected, and he leaned heavily against the door frame with a satisfied smile on his face while Ruby took her knife and slit its throat.

She relieved the dead man’s body of his jacket and helped Dean put it on, draping it carefully over the open wounds on his back. He grimaced and broke into a sweat, but somehow he stayed standing.

When they cleared the building, Dean felt his breath hitch.

Lawrence looked like a battleground.

A dim yellow haze of sulfur blanketed the city. There were no lights shining through windows, no sound of the happy chatter of people walking down the sidewalks. In the dark Dean could make out vague shapes of bodies littering the streets, and the pervading reek of death was everywhere. Even the quiet hulking masses of parked cars looked too still. Nerves stretching tight, Dean whispered, “Where is everybody?”

“Heading to the Gate.” She said. “Tonight’s the night, I guess. Good thing, too, or I’d have never made it in to get you.”

“I don’t have the sword.” Dean admitted. He waited for her to rip him a new one, but she just looked confused.

“Sword?”

 _Crap_. “Uh – long story. It’s kind of … Michael’s.” He admitted, waiting for the game of twenty questions, but for once she seemed stunned into silence.

After staring at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, she responded with, “It should be wherever you left it. I don’t think any of Sam’s people would be able to touch it.”

“Huh.” Honestly, he hadn’t thought of that.

“Where’d you leave it?”

Dean winced. “Our old house. C’mon, let’s jack a car.”

“You go ahead. I’ll meet you.”

He pulled up short. “No. We stick together on this one.” For one, he didn’t trust her. And for two, he wasn’t sure if he could make it on his own. He grimaced. Number one wasn’t going very well in hand with number two.

But she shook her head. “Someone needs to stall them from opening the gate, and you’re only gonna slow me down. Just – get there as fast as you can, alright?”

He nodded stiffly, giving up the fight. He didn’t have the energy, anyway. Moving painfully slow, he headed for the nearest car.

 

~*~

 

“Oh, thank God,” Dean breathed, running his hand over the untouched metal of the Impala. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” A quick glance revealed no damage. “Be right back, baby.”

He took the stairs two at a time, wincing with every step. By the time he reached the second floor he was shaking weakly and his back was on fire. He stumbled into the closet and retrieved the sword from its hiding place, also reclaiming his cell phone from the floor where he had dropped it.

The instant his hand closed around the hilt, the bright golden glow surged through him and he felt strength returning to his torn body. “Awesome,” he whispered. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He flexed slowly, relishing the relief.

He’d have to be mindful of his injuries to avoid making them worse, but the majority of the pain had dulled, washed away in the steady thrum of the sword’s power.

He shucked the dead man’s bloody jacket and dug through Jenny’s dresser instead. In the back of the bottom drawer, he found a few old T-shirts that must have belonged to her husband. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. He suspected that the heat of the sword would keep him warm.

He pulled one on and headed back to the Impala. Sitting back down was bliss. He sank gratefully into the soft leather, put the key in the ignition, and brought the engine roaring to life.

The sky was cold and black, the scent of ashes and ruin thick in the chilled November air. Dean pushed the pedal through the floorboard and steered his ride to Stull.

 

~*~

 

Ruby crouched low atop the gentle sloping rise of ground around the edges of the cemetery. The Stull Gate was a thing of legend, and she’d never believed it, but then again, she’d never put much stock in Samael’s existence either, and now here she was, staring down at them both.

Demons weren’t supposed to get shivers down their spines or feel dread at anything other than the name of God, but the scene in front of her was proving that theory wrong as well.

Samael stood with his bride in the center of a multitude. Every human that had survived the hostile takeover of Lawrence was present, possessed by a legion of demons the likes of which she’d never seen. They were more than the bottom feeders that wreaked causal havoc around the country, getting their kicks from manipulation and mind games.

They were warriors.

She reached back to her waistband and pulled the Colt free. Dean would have killed her if he knew she’d found it. He said he was with her on this, but unreadable as he could be, she’d been there for the aftermath of his deal. She’d watched him struggle with Sam; she knew how responsible he felt for his brother. She _knew_ he’d been lying to her.

But she knew Sam, too, knew he’d never let anyone hurt his brother.

And that’s how she knew he was lost.

She watched carefully as Samael began to speak. The warriors in one body sank to their knees, muscles taunt with anticipation. His voice projected deep into the night, and she heard it not only with her ears, but in her mind as well. His dark presence was a living, breathing thing.

Lilith stood beside him, the dark Queen of all Hell, and she looked proud and regal, holding the Book firmly in her hands. Ruby frowned. She didn’t see any evidence of a pregnancy, but she couldn’t think that Dean would lie about something like that. The demon that normally trailed Lilith – the Priestess - seemed to be absent. Ruby cast the observation aside. Tonight, no one stood with Samael. He was there to bring his legions to earth.

“You came to me leaderless.” he began. “You were hidden, hunted. Slaves to the wills of others, outnumbered and weak.”

The crowed nodded in affirmation, trembling at the deep bass waves power that washed over them. He was their Messiah, their chosen one. They would, and very well may, follow him to the depths of Hell if that was where he chose to go.

“It was written, and to him was given the key to the bottomless pit.” He smiled darkly, eyes canted low. “Well, tonight, I will show you that I _am_ the key.”A low rumble began to spread through the crowd, murmurs of soldiers gearing up for war.

Ruby swallowed hard. She could see what Dean would refuse to accept; the creature in front of her was _not_ Sam Winchester. He was an ancient, powerful warrior who had brought war against the forces of God Himself; and lost.

His rebirth had been planned since the moment Michael’s sword had first pierced his cold, dark heart. Sam Winchester had been chosen well. His abilities combined with the power of Samael would make him invincible.

Ruby had the certain feeling that this time he wasn’t going to lose.

“This night, I will free our brothers and sisters from the Pit, where they have suffered! And tomorrow, this world will know that the time of their kind is _over._ ”

The crowd surged to their feet, and the guttural roars of the demons were deafening. They blocked her view from where she lay. She could feel Samael’s power begin to surge, reaching, spreading deep into the ground below.

She could see Dean now, not far behind her, peering over a gravestone at the scene below. His face was deathly pale, and his mouth a tight, thin line, but his eyes were steel and deadly determination. She couldn’t sense him where he lay, and she drew a deep breath to steady herself, taking some small comfort in the fact that, at least until he was ready to fight, he’d be safe.

It was now or never. She was a demon first, and a hunter second. She was still evil in form, and she would never be able to touch the sword; even if she wanted to. She couldn’t kill Samael.

But maybe she could give Sam Winchester a fighting chance. She’d just have to trust that Dean could finish what she’d started.

Ruby stood tall, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger.

 

~*~

 

Dean was crouched low several yards behind Ruby’s position, and he struggled to see over the gentle slope of the hill’s crest. He didn’t exactly have to see to feel the power in the air, to hear the dark, demonic voice coming from his brother’s mouth. _Sammy,_ his heart ached at the sound. _Sammy, please, come on, fight._

A low rumble ripped through the ground below, and he knew at once that Samael was reaching for the Gate. Dimly he saw Ruby shift and look behind to see him, and he met her gaze without flinching.

He choked back a startled yell as she stood, took aim, and fired the Colt directly into the crowd below.

Dean felt himself rushing forward as the bullet hit home. Even from far away, the killing light was blinding. Samael flinched roughly and turned away from his captive audience to look at his bride.

Silence fell across the field as, in slow motion, Lilith fell to the ground at his feet, the great Book tumbling roughly out of her small hand to rest in a heap in the short, withering grass.

Dean slid to a stop beside Ruby. He gripped the sword tightly, drawing strength from its closeness, gaping at the sight below.

He knew the instant Lilith died.

A wave of warmth washed through him like oxygen, liquefying his weakened muscles and dropping him to his knees. Heady euphoria enveloped him, and bright lights flickered at the edges of his vision. He breathed deeply, and an ethereal _rush_ flowed inside him, filling up the empty spaces.

He blinked and sought out Ruby’s face. The demon inside was hidden from his sight, and she smiled down at him with startling blue eyes that were filled with tears. Instinctively he knew what it meant.

Dean had his soul back.

Tension filled the basin below, slowly building as the crowd began to realize what had happened. Samael was kneeling over Lilith’s body, and for one instant, the silence held.

But then he blinked, looked straight across the field to Ruby, and _screamed_.

Dean covered his face and ducked low into the grass as the white-hot blaze of the devil’s power washed over and around him, diverted by his grip on the sword. The power engulfed Ruby and she fell roughly down beside him in the grass, writhing as invisible tendrils bit into her, flaying deep wounds into her skin.

“Ruby!” He rolled low against the ground to her side and pulled himself into a crouch, dragging her back from the hill’s edge, hiding them both from sight.

“Dean, get ready,” she cried, grappling for his arms to push him away. He shoved her hands aside and pulled her jacket open to assess the damage. He flinched roughly.

“God, you … _dammit_ , why didn’t you tell me you found the Colt!” The lacerations were getting _deeper_ , and Dean shut his eyes, he couldn’t watch this, she was being torn apart right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do.

“Not important,” she gasped. “gone now,” she added, gesturing uselessly towards the melting hunk of metal beside them in the dirt. He looked then, and his eyes shifted from the remains of the Colt to the sword.

It wasn’t important. He was losing her, and he didn’t know what to do. He looked helplessly into her blue, blue eyes.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t give up, Dean. You h .. have to st…” Her voice was barely audible as she began to fade. “Stop him,” she finished.

“How?” he pleaded, leaning in close.

"It was ... a spell," Pain filled her eyes. "I used a spell, to keep you from remembering, didn't - _dammit_ \- didn't want you to ..." her chest heaved with the effort of breathing.

"Didn't want me to what?" he prompted, holding pressure over the gaping wounds. Her blood was everywhere, the human blood slick against his skin, the demon blood burning his hands with sulfur.

"To go, t … to go crazy." she gasped.

Dean's eyes filled with horror. "What are you saying? Why would I ..."

"Your ... pain," she gasped. "he .. not _HIM_ , not, but .. _Sam_... SAM can f - feel your pain, DEAN," she grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down close. "Say ... the words, and you'll .. AHH," she cried out as she felt through her pocket for a scrap of paper and held it up to him, "you'll remember ..."

"Remember what? RUBY!" he shook her a little too roughly, harsh desperation to hear what she had to say outweighing his need to keep her with him.

Her eyes were fixing on the middle distance, and her last breath was a sigh of words as she slowly slipped away. "Remember ... _Hell_."

Dean gripped the paper in his bloodstained fingers, his mind spinning as he silently read the words. What he remembered in his nightmares was enough. Fear awakened deep inside him, relentless and invasive, threatening to weaken his resolve.

But he remembered Salvation, he remembered Sam’s voice after he’d seen those images. _I won’t let you go back there, Dean. I won’t_. Maybe … maybe if he could relive it, really _remember_ it for Sam to see, maybe it would be enough.

Dean unsheathed the angel’s sword and gripped it firmly. He felt Heaven’s heat flow through his arm, granting him strength. Resolutely he walked to the hill’s crest.

His brother was waiting for him in the midst of the battlefield, and it was high time they had a talk.


	13. Chapter 13

_Dean Winchester stands on the brink. His dark form is silhouetted against the hunter's moon, his face a set mask of vengeful fury. His shirt is ripped and torn, but the blood dripping down his warriors frame is not his own. He carries the shining sword like a beacon of hope, but he wields it like the reaping wind of death itself. There are none with him, none of his race who would pit themselves against the damning wrath of Samael._

 _The demonic hordes advance hungrily upon the hunter, seeking to rend his flesh from bone, baying out their lust for his blood. At first they encircle him, coming one by one, matching skill for skill with this, their ultimate opponent. And one by one they fall, choking in pools of their own blood, crying out in anguish as they are sent back into the Pit. Sulfur flows down the sloping arena, scorching the earth, turning the grass to ash._

 _Never tiring, never wavering, the hunter dispatches them all as they come. His motions are swift and brutal, every stroke counting, every move serving his purpose. The demons cry out as one body in rage at the sight of their fallen comrades. They begin to advance as a whole, challenging the hunter to best them at their full numbers. They lunge, slicing at him with knives, pummeling him with their fists; trying to shred his mind with their powers. For what seems an eternity, the hunter keeps the horde at bay. Then, slowly, the blows begin to find their marks._

 _The lone hunter gasps as his blood begins to flow. He can feel his strength beginning to fail. The shining sword in his hands is heavy, and he struggles against the pressing mass of bodies; bodies of innocent humans who will die by his hand because they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Enough," he screams. "Enough, haven't you bastards HAD ENOUGH?" He lunges for one last rally, splitting the body of the closest demon in two from hip to shoulder. The sulfur is choking him, the tattoo on his skin burns into his heart, overloading from the attempts the monsters are making to break its protective magic._

 _More demons push into him, shoving with such force that his stance is broken. Finally he falls to the ground. His chest heaves for air, his muscles are slick with blood and sweat. His body is spent, but his eyes are defiant as he waits for the killing blow to fall._

 _He grips the sword tightly in his hands, not willing to release it, but not able to wield it anymore, either. He's in pain, but not enough. Not enough to get the job done. The demons encircle him, and he can hear their taunts, see the bloodlust in their eyes, but that's not what he's looking for. He holds his breath. The demons stop stirring almost as one body, as if held back by some unseen force. He knows it's almost time._

Not yet, not yet _._

 _He shudders as the feel of_ evil _, pure and strong, slides through the arena, permeating every particle of air, turning his blood to ice._

Not yet ...

 _At the edge of the battlefield, blood dripping from his hands, Samael moves towards the hunter. His white eyes reveal nothing, but the power comes from him in waves, the rage sets the earth below his feet on fire, his muscles clench with the strain of holding back. The demon army parts, allowing their dark master passage. His eyes fix on the hunter. He's less than 100 yards away._

Not yet.

 _Samael moves through the crowd, demons shrinking back from him, bowing at his feet, but he has eyes only for his adversary. 50 yards away._

Not yet.

 _It's all the hunter can do to breathe, the demons have surrounded him, and his only escape is through the devil himself._

 _30 Yards. He forces himself to meet those eyes, to look past them, to reach out with everything he has to the man who he knows would die for him. If this is the end, he thinks, so be it._

Now.

 _The white eyes narrow as the hunter locks his gaze, and as the chant falls from the hunter's lips, the devil smiles._ Fool _. Nothing the hunter can do will save him now._

~*~

As the last word dropped from his lips, everything around Dean vanished, washed away in the flood of fear and pain that overtook his mind, tearing into his every nerve. The memories assaulted him, ripping into him with more ferocity than the demons had been just moments ago. If there was ever a case for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dean was it, and dealing with it all at once was just too much.

He screamed.

Dean screamed like the scream could shake the foundations of the world, long and rough and painful, the sound of ultimate agony. In his mind he was reliving the tortures of the Pit, his body ached with the sting of the memories, his sanity tore at the seams as the whispered words he had heard there sought to drive more knives into his tender soul. His eyes burned brightly with hellfire, and Dean knew that once it had touched someone, they would never truly be free.

He could feel everything shifting, falling, and blackness clouded the edges of his vision. In his desperation he cried out one last time, green eyes seeking white ones, all of his pain and anguish projected into the one word, the one plea, his last chance.

" _SAAAM_!"

He felt a rumble in the ground beneath him and Dean knew, he _knew_ that the devil was opening the earth, dragging him down to the Pit for the final time. His weakened body betrayed him, and he felt himself slipping into sweet unconsciousness. As he began to fall, he felt the shudders of the earth grow stronger, and the last thing he was aware of was that strong hands were catching him, demons seemed to be running, deep hazel eyes were seeking out his gaze, and then everything went black.

~*~

Dean came around slowly. It was still dark, and he'd been having a nightmare, and whatever hunt they'd been on must have been a _bitch_ , because he was cut up and sore all over. He registered gentle hands shaking his shoulders. "Dean," came the voice, and he frowned, because there was something wrong with it. The shaking grew more insistent. "Dean! Please, Dean, please wake up, come on, come on," the voice chanted, and suddenly it clicked.

Sam. Sam's voice. Sam was scared. Nothing woke Dean up faster than that.

Dean's eyes flew open, and he stifled a yell as the horror of his nightmare flared into his vision, an undeniable cruel reality. He was at the edge of the field now, lying in a pile of dead leaves underneath the skeleton of a withered old tree, and beyond the rim of the basin there were demons; bodies of demons strewn across the battlefield like an A-bomb had hit the place. Not one was breathing, not one human had been left alive.

But none of that mattered, because filling up his field of vision, torn clothes and hair too long, and blood on his hands, but hazel eyes, _hazel_ , was _Sam_. _His_ Sam.

"S ... Sammy?" Something was still very wrong, he could see that. Sam _whimpered_ , fell backwards from the crouch he'd been holding and landed roughly, bringing his hands to his temples and clutching at his head like something was in there trying to claw its way out. His whimpers turned to full-on sobs and he moaned, reaching out one bloodstained hand for his brother.

"Dean ..."

Dean was off the ground in an instant, clutching him to his heart, gripping his outstretched hand fiercely. "Sammy, shh, shh, it's ok, I got you, I'm here, it's ok," the steady cadence of words came unconsciously as his mind focused his eyes to look over Sam, to see if he was hurt, to try to assess the damage.

"Dean, he's ... in ... _inside_ of me ..." Sam grabbed the front of Dean's shirt, pulling him down until his face was buried in the crook of Dean's neck, and he whispered, "I saw you, I heard you ... ah, I heard you _scream_ and I _used_ him, I used him to save you, and he's weak, I used the power, I used a lot of it, I killed the demons, and I .. I, AGHh, GOD!" Sam all but collapsed into Dean, shaking all over, tremors of pain running through his body.

Dean's blood ran cold. He shook his head. "No. No, no no, you - you listen to me, you can fight this. You can beat him. He's not possessing you, you can drive him out!" Sam shook his head. His body lurched suddenly, pulling him out of Dean's grip, and he screamed as he fell. He turned and raised his tear-filled eyes to Dean.

"No," he sobbed, and Dean's heart broke. He'd never seen him this frightened, he'd never felt this helpless. "He's a part of me now." Sam struggled to rise up on his knees, and he reached for Dean's shoulders. Dean gripped Sam's arms in response, steadying him. "Dean, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but ...” His eyes gleamed with tears, and sweat poured down his face.

His lower lip trembled, and suddenly Dean was thinking of Sammy at six years old, when he'd just spilled the milk, or tripped over a lamp cord and broke the lamp, and it was all he could do to ask, "But what, Sammy?"

"You ... you have to kill him." Sam's eyes shifted quickly to the gleaming sword, lying next to Dean in the soft bed of dead leaves. Dean's eyes widened in horror.

"Sammy, no, I'd - " he started, but Sam cut him off.

"You have to, Dean. He's ... too str - AHh!" Sam curled in on himself again, collapsing into Dean, and it was way too much like Cold Oak, and Dean thought he may never breathe again.

There was no denying that Sam was losing the fight. His shaking had turned into something like a full blown seizure, and Dean could see the white slowly returning to the edges of those hazel eyes. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as Dean's death grip on denial was shattered.

He had thought ... but no, the actual words he had heard said nothing about Sam's life. _Will you fight this battle, Dean Winchester, for the Lord, and for your brother's soul?_ Seeing Sam again had pushed away the stinging memories of Hell, at least for now, but there was no way Dean was going to let his baby brother go there, not ever. No. Way.

Dean's breath hitched in his throat and he eased Sam down onto the soft ground, placing one hand gently on his forehead, and one hand firmly over his heart. Sam's eyes fluttered open, and they were clear, and they projected everything, and Dean knew what he would have said.

 _Please, I'm asking you to save me._

" _Dammit_." He couldn't leave Sam like this. _I promised._ And he knew what he had to do. Sam knew it, too - saw it in his eyes, and he sighed gratefully.

"Ok, it's ok Sammy, I gotcha, relax, I'm here, I gotcha," Sam began to slowly relax under the steady fall of words. His brow furrowed in concentration, he pushed back against the pain.

"There's not much time," Sam whispered. Dean leaned in close, kneeling down until their foreheads were almost touching. He held Sam's gaze, too close for Sam to see anything else.

"I know. I'm right here. I'm not leavin' you, I'll be here, I'll be here until the time comes." Dean could feel tears welling behind his eyelids, and he shut them down. Sammy needed him. One of them had to be brave.

Sam seemed to relax even more at that, but he still looked worried. He smiled a small, wistful smile. "I'm glad you're back, Dean. I missed you. I knew you'd come find me." Tears were slipping quietly from the corners of Sam's eyes, but he seemed calm. Dean was grateful for that.

"Yeah, Sam, I always will." Dean could feel Sam's heartbeat, steady and strong, held it in his hand. He pushed away the thought of what was coming. _Just be with him. Don't waste it._

"When ... after ... don't go selling your soul, ok? You just got it back. Hang on to it for me." Sam said it lightly, but Dean knew he meant it, meant it with every fiber of his being. Again, he read the unspoken words, just like Sam, just the way they'd talked best all their lives. _Let me go, Dean. It's ok. Live for me, please._

Dean glanced around the field, a small, dry laugh escaping his lips. "I don't think there's anyone left who'd want to buy it, kiddo."

Sam smiled weakly, but then he winced, grabbing Dean's hand against his chest, crying out hard, eyes closing against the pain. Dean gripped back. _No, I'm not ready, please, just a little while longer, oh GOD,_ "Sammy? Sam!"

Sam's skin heated, and the crackle of power was the only warning Dean had that his time was up. Snatching the sword from the ground, he stood over his brother, holding the tip to his chest, shaking in fear and fighting against every muscle in his body to _stay_ , to follow through with his promise. Because it was _Sam_ , and he'd begged Dean, and Dean _promised_.

And Dean always kept his promises to Sam.

Sam's eyes snapped open, and it was Samael staring back, pure white orbs gleaming up at Dean, all traces of pain gone from his body. But his voice was _Sam_ , and his face was _Sam_ , Sam's _face_ , pleading with Dean, as he reached inside and pulled out old, familiar words. "What are you gonna do, Dean? Huh? Do you really think you could kill your own brother?"

Dean's face twisted with rage. _I tried so hard to keep you safe_. His voice channeled the pure hatred he held inside as he venomously ground out, " _You're NOT Sam_." Ignoring the familiar, pleading voice and the precious features that he knew better than his own, Dean looked straight into the Devil's white eyes and plunged the sword of Michael deep into the heart of evil itself.

The flash of light that followed was blinding, pure and intense, the sound like a mighty rush of wind, and Dean gripped the hilt of the sword for dear life to keep from being pushed away. The holy light sought the darkness, surrounding Samael, entrapping his essence, and it pushed inward as he writhed, tearing through him until all traces of the darkness had been extinguished. The light burst outward, sweeping the arena, and then it was gone.

Time seemed to freeze. All was quite in the battlefield, the heat of the sword was spent and the blade was cool in Dean's hands, all traces of the smell of sulfur had been wiped clean. Slowly, and with dread coursing through every vein, Dean opened his eyes.

 _Sammy._

The tip of the angel's sword was buried deep into the ground, the hilt was firmly grasped in Dean's trembling hands, and the blade that connected them rested clean through Sam's silent heart.

"Sammy," Everything seemed to be in slow motion as Dean fell to his knees, releasing the sword and reaching for his brother's face. Sam's hazel eyes stared back at Dean, but they didn't see him - they didn't see anything anymore.

Dean felt his mind begin to slip. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

 _You can't run from this. And you can't protect me._

His hands moved to the collar of Sam's shirt, gripping it tightly.

 _I need you to watch out for Sammy, ok?_

Dean curled down over his brother's still form, pressing his face into Sam's neck, shutting out the carnage all around them.

 _There's gotta be a way, right? Yeah. Yeah there is._

Dean was spent completely, body, mind, and soul.

 _Please. I'm asking you to save me._

There was no more reason to go, no reason to fight anymore. The fight was over, and no one needed him.

No one was going to need him.

 _Don't be scared, Dean._

He closed his eyes, falling bonelessly against Sam, curling into him, hiding from the world.

Exhaustion dragged him under, and he knew no more.


	14. Chapter 14

And that was how he found them, the Anchor and the Storm: spent, bloodied, broken, and entwined in one another. One was breathing, one had been released from all his pain.

Dean had been pushed beyond his limit. He had endured much in his life - pain and anguish, guilt that ate away at him like acid, loss and devastation that would have brought a lesser man to his knees long ago, and he had always kept on. But this one task, this final quest had taken away everything that the boy had left. It had been too much for him, and now he lay in fractured sleep, purpose and destiny fulfilled, perhaps more wounded than any person had ever been before.

As for Sam ... well. Sam's journey lay beyond the mortal realm now. His destiny had been much greater, his path much darker than his brothers. But Sam's human soul was pure and true, his spirit strong, and he had seen his path through to the bitter end.

Slowly, gently, Michael reached to retrieve the shining sword. Its hilt pulsed warmly in his hand, welcoming his familiar touch. Sam's body gripped the blade, and Michael sent down a pulse of power, carefully prying it free, sliding it loose quietly, not wanting to disturb Dean's restless sleep.

The Angel sheathed the sword smoothly, turning his bright eyes to the broken warrior at his feet.

He could heal Dean. He could let Heaven's power flow through the young man until he forgot everything, he could erase the hurt and pain - but he knew better. He knew that kind of help was the last thing Dean would ever want or need.

Quietly he knelt next to the fallen, and he laid his hand on Dean's forehead, watched as the drawn lines in Dean's face smoothed. Dean's breathing evened out, and his tense muscles began to relax.

Seeing the Angel the first time had changed Dean's life, but that wasn't who he needed to see right now.

 

~*~

 

Dean was lost in the dark. _How long have I been wandering like this?_ His thoughts were fragmented and sharp, the edges cutting into him, leaving deep wounds in his mind.

Alone.

He was all alone.

“Hello?” Dean’s voice was swallowed by the blackness, total night engulfing even the sound of his fear. His weary soul fluttered weakly, dread stirring deep within him at the thought of _emptiness_. Of _alone_. Of _Hell_.

 _Don’t be scared, Dean._

“Dad?” Dean stepped towards the voice – not as much a voice as a _feeling_ , a flush of memory that smoothed the sharp edges of his thoughts.

“Dad?” Dean called again, but the darkness was too complete, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t _hear_ anything. Angry tears threatened to form at this most recent betrayal.

“Don’t be scared? Screw you!” Dean shouted. It was time he told John Winchester just exactly how he felt, imaginary or not.

“You left me, Dad. You left _us_. You were a coward, Dad!” Dean’s hands curled into fists. He moved forward into the dark, daring something – anything – to come and meet him. For the first time in a long time, Dean was longing for a fight.

“Is that why you trained me so hard? Huh? Is that the reason you kept Sam so safe inside your little pretend reality? Is that why you needed me to be your perfect little _solider_?” Dean spat. As the paced through the darkness, his thoughts solidified, fragments forming one single blade to cut through the mental fog all around him.

“How could you put that on me, Dad?” Dean was screaming now, ripping into the darkness, tearing it with his rage.

“Did you know? Did you KNOW about Sam’s DESTINY?” Dean shouted, turning from side to side, seeking. “Did you know that I’d be STRONGER THAN YOU?” Dean shuddered, coming to a halting stop. _I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love._ _I let Dad down. And now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down, too? How can I?_ His voice faltered, and the words slowed, squeezing past the lump forming in his throat.

“Well, I’m not. I’m not, ok?” Dean sighed. “I’m not stronger. I’m weaker. I couldn’t just leave him like that. I …” his breath hitched and he swallowed hard, trying to just _breathe_.

 _God, Sammy_. “I tried, Dad. I tried to look out for Sammy, like you told me. I tried it your way. Everything just went to Hell.” Dean shook his head at the irony of _that_ statement. “I tried it my way … and innocent people died.” Dean rubbed his hand over his face, wiping the tears away, trying to wipe away the darkness. “I … there was nothing left to try.” Dean listened to the darkness, but it was quiet, and no one answered him.

“I don’t know where to go from here.” He whispered.

 _Don’t be scared, Dean._

A light shone through the black, so faint that Dean thought it may have been imagined, but … “Dad?” Dean pushed towards the light, desperate to reach it, for anything that might chase away the shadows.

 _Don’t be scared, Dean._

The light was getting stronger, and Dean reached out to it with everything he had left, praying against all hope that this time someone would be there, that he could finally release the weight of his awful burden.

“Why?” he called out, “Why shouldn’t I be? Tell me, Dad, ‘cause the way I see it – I’ve earned it, haven’t I? Haven’t I done everything you’ve ever asked? Haven’t I been the brave one my whole life? Why should I do anything else you say?”

 _Angels are watching over you._

Dean froze, his arm reaching towards the approaching light, but suddenly it was around him, inside him, washing all his fear away. The razor edges melted from his thoughts, turning them liquid gold, his mind defied him to see what was right in front of his eyes.

He fell to his knees, weak and trembling, emptied out of all but wonder, of hope.

“Mom?”

 

~*~

 

Michael’s golden light flowed over Dean, covering him in a blanket of safety and comfort. Slowly, so, so slowly, the light seeped into Dean, searching for the darkness inside him, seeking out the taint of evil - of Hell, and Michael could feel Dean’s tortured and weary soul mending, coming together again.

A look of wonder played across the sleeping man’s face, and he settled deeper into the light, years that were not his own falling away until he looked beautiful again. Whole. Peaceful.

They sat like that for long moments, the angel, the warrior, and the sacrifice; Michael taking his time, letting Dean see what he needed to see. He had time – time enough for this.

 

~*~

 

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, cringing from the bright light of morning. His hands were still curled into fists, and he stiffly unclenched them, reluctantly pushing up into a sitting position. The nightmare was still the same in the early light of day. Sadly he reached down and pressed his palm to his little brother’s heart.

“Sammy.” Dean felt a deep inner peace, but it did nothing to quell the sorrow, to dull the ache of their sacrifice, of Dean’s ultimate and final loss. Dean brushed the hair out of Sam’s face, thinking of all the times he’d done this, remembering how he’d used to cut it when Sam was little. He’d always had Sam to take care of, and it gave him purpose.

Now his purpose was ended.

“Sammy,” Dean started again, mouth twisting into a sad half-smile, “I’m totally useless without you, you know that?”

Dean slowly became aware that he was not alone, soft footsteps rustling in the leaves underneath the dead tree. Dean looked to his hand, still resting over Sam’s heart. He realized dimly that the sword had been removed.

Michael knelt down on one knee, leaning towards Dean, and Dean met his bright eyes without flinching. “S’my brother ok?” He asked, needing to know the truth. “I did what you … what He wanted. I need to know. Sam’s soul, is it …?”

“Your brother gave his life for the world,” the angel replied. “Your sacrifice has freed him from the grip of great evil.” The angel’s eyes pinned Dean, resonating the truth of the words back and forth between them.

“Then he…?”

“Sam is being cared for. He had much grief, much guilt weighing on his soul.” Michael laid a compassionate hand on Dean’s shoulder, and gently rested a palm on Sam’s, as well. “He is finally resting, Dean.”

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Tears of sorrow and relief rolled slowly down his cheeks, cutting trails through all the dirt and blood, washing him clean.

“It is also time for you to rest.” The angel said. “You fought bravely, obedient though the unthinkable was asked of you. The Lord has said to tell you this – whatever you ask, it will be given unto you.”

Dean blinked as the angel’s words hit home.

 _You shouldn’t have made that deal, Dean._

“Whatever I ask?”

 _How certain are you that what you brought back is 100% pure Sam?_

The angel nodded.

 _What’s dead should stay dead_.

“I …”

 _Please, I’m asking you to save me._

Dean thought of warmth, of love. Of the feeling of being safe with his family inside that eternal golden glow. He’d wanted to stay forever.

He couldn’t take that away from Sam.

 _Don’t be scared, Dean_.

He just couldn’t.

“I don’t want anything,” he whispered, not quite believing it himself. “I don’t want anything.”

Michael smiled, and the peace flowed over Dean again, even stronger than before. The angel stood, radiant in the morning light. “If that is your wish, so shall it be. Your heart is pure and true, Dean Winchester, but your soul is not whole. It shall be restored to you; that will be your gift.”

The angel began to shine, blending with the sunrise. It was the same light that drove away the darkness, and Dean covered his face, shielding his eyes from the brilliance.

When the light vanished, the angel was gone. Dean’s eyes strained into the sky, hoping to catch just a glimpse of Heaven’s doorway, but he only saw the sun.

The sun was starting to beat down on the field, and the heat of day touched everything. Even Sam’s skin felt miraculously warm to the touch against Dean’s palm, chest heating from the harsh rays. Dean looked helplessly around the arena. There were nothing but bodies as far as the eye could see. He was rested and strong again, but he only had enough drive left to take care of one. He leaned to wrap his arms around Sam.

“C’mon,” he murmured, “Let’s get you home.”

Supporting Sam’s head with one hand, Dean stood to a crouch, pulling his brother close. Grabbing Sam’s wrist with his other hand, he levered him into a sitting position, and from there into a fireman’s carry.

It was a long walk back to the Impala, even without skirting burning patches of earth and carrying Sam’s weight, and by the time Dean reached her his muscles were trembling from the effort.

Dean wasn’t sure of his exact plan, only that it wouldn’t be long before news of the town’s unexplained destruction would spread, and that it wasn’t safe to be the last man left standing at the O.K. Corral.

There was only one place Dean was willing to take Sam. They had done it for Dad, Sam had done it for him, and even though Dean knew that Sam was safe now - his soul already moved on - being committed to the flames was a hunter’s last rite. Sam deserved the honor, and Dean was determined to see it done.

Dean reached inside the passenger door and opened up his cell. He dialed Bobby’s number and waited.

“Bobby? It’s done. I’ve got Sam. Meet me at that motel outside of town – if it’s still standing. And Bobby? Bring a big truck.”

 

~*~

 

It almost seemed poetic in a fucked up sort of way, bringing Sam back one last time to the only kind of home they’d ever known. Some anonymous motel; probably mouse infested, cobwebs in the corners, stains on the sheets, barely a lock on the door but _home_.

Dean wondered how many times he’d done this, stitched Sammy up on the run, washed away the blood from his skin with stiff motel towels. Only this time he wasn’t hoping that it would be the last time. This time he wasn’t worried about whether or not Sammy was alright.

This time he _knew_. Nothing was alright.

Dean remembered Cold Oak like it was a dream. He remembered just sitting there, frozen, his body too numb to move but his mind screaming.

He remembered driving with Sam to the woods, waiting to die, his mind too numb to think but his body ready and willing to sacrifice everything for his family.

It wasn’t natural; it wasn’t right that anyone should have to live through something like this twice. But he had no one else to blame but himself, and so he stitched Sammy up, washed the blood away, and tried his best to tell himself that he hadn’t had any other choice.

 

~*~

 

Bobby knew the second he saw the Impala parked all crooked with half her doors open that somethin’ was wrong. He’d been staring at his cell for hours – days – when Dean’s voice had finally come over the other end. _It’s over_ , he’d said. _I’ve got Sam._ His stomach had clenched hard at Dean’s tone.

Cool and collected, like there wasn’t a thing going on in the world.

He pushed open the door with a shaking hand, already half knowing what he’d see. Didn’t make it hurt any less.

Dean sat vigilant on the bed beside Sam, legs crossed and his chin in his hands, idly staring at nothing. His knees barely brushed against Sam, like he was afraid to get any closer but even more afraid to back away.

At the sound of the creaking door, Dean raised his eyes to meet Bobby’s, and Bobby felt the air leave his lungs sure as if he’d been sucker-punched square in the gut. “S … _Dean_ ,” he blurted, frozen into place.

Dean pushed his lips together, arched up the corners of his mouth into _that_ smile, the one he always used right before he usually said something like _no really, I’m fine_ , and Bobby lost it.

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, don’t even _think_ about doin’ some damn fool thing, I won’t stand for it, I tell ya, I can’t take it anymore, you goddamn Winchesters, always-“

But suddenly Dean was there, he hadn’t even seen him move, and he was wrapping his arms around Bobby, and Bobby knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was all wrong, that he should be comforting _Dean_ , that Dean without Sam was lost, but he felt so lost himself he just stood there and let it happen.

“Man, it’s over, it’s over, I won’t, I promise,” Dean was rambling, clinging to him like Velcro, and Bobby found himself clinging right back.

He thought _John Winchester you sonnuvabitch, this oughta be you, this oughta be you and not me, you bastard,_ but what came out was, “Boys, so … _God_ , Sammy, why did -" and _there_ were the tears that had been waiting for damn near two years to fall.

“It’s ok, Sam’s safe now.” Dean sounded choked up, too, but there was a conviction in his voice that Bobby felt sure was unjustified. Sam was _dead_.

“My boys too,” he choked, “y’all are my boys, too, dammit, and I can’t –"

“I know,” Dean rasped. “He knew. He knows.”

Bobby began to find his air again, took a second to breathe, and pushed his fumbling hands weakly against Dean’s shoulders, mumbling “Gettoff me already.”

Dean’s grip firmed, giving a little extra strength before he let go, stepping back to look his friend in the eyes.

Bobby looked back and couldn’t believe it. Dean’s green eyes glittered with pain, but he was _there_ , behind them, looking out. He wasn’t some shade of a creature wracked with horror, plagued by guilt and loss; he wasn’t someone fighting for his life. For the first time in a long time, Bobby was looking at _Dean_. Just Dean.

They exchanged an understanding nod. Bobby brushed forward, drawn to the far bed, and knelt gently on the threadbare carpet, hooking his chin over the edge of the mattress to look at his youngest.

Sam’s face was relaxed, and his clothes were fresh and clean. They still smelled like his shampoo. His face was shaven smooth and his hair was shorter than when Bobby had seen him on the news. _Dean_ , he realized. He wondered how long it had taken Dean to clean his brother up; what he’d seen out there in the smoldering ruins of Lawrence.

Sam looked so young lying there. Damn, it _hurt_. “What happened?”

Dean’s voice was still steady but the hand on Bobby’s shoulder trembled a little. “He asked me to save him.” he whispered.

Bobby’s blood ran ice cold at the certainty that, sure as he was breathin’, Dean Winchester had just told him he’d killed his own brother. But he couldn’t rustle up any anger towards the boy. If anything, it was pretty much the opposite. “God, Dean.” He breathed.

They stayed for long moments, both of them just staring at Sam like they were watching him sleep. Finally Dean stirred. “Bobby?”

“Yeah, son.”

“Help me take Sam home?”

Floods of memories came rushing in, Sam asking for help with his homework, Dean asking for help with his crossbow, and Bobby figured he’d been helping those boys all their lives, and he wasn’t about to stop now.

“How far?”

“’Bout a hundred miles or so; not far out of Jefferson.”

“Alright.”

“You bring a truck?”

“Semi, actually.”

“Good. Let’s load up the Impala – then we’re gonna need some ice.”

He just nodded and went to work on the car while Dean raided the motel ice machine. He knew in his bones this time was different, this time Dean was really going to be ok, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to keep an eye on the kid, and maybe this time – _his third time, shit_ \- he figured Dean might even have to keep an eye on him.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean stood silently in a clearing in the woods. Everything was peaceful, nighttime sounds surrounding him this time where last time there had been nothing but silence. He should have been unsettled by standing here again, but his memories of the hellhounds were fuzzy. Whether it was because he had more important things on his mind or because the angel had helped him take the edge off, he didn’t know.

It didn’t matter. Now he had eyes only for Sam.

They had built the pyre together in silence. Dean had wanted to do it alone, the way Sam had done it for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to cut Bobby out. The man was too shattered, and he needed to help Dean, for his own sake.

When the wood was piled high and Sam’s body was placed on the shelf, Bobby had withdrawn with an aching, sorrowful look and a firm pat on the shoulder without Dean even having to ask. Dean had been grateful at the time. Now, standing beside the logs with the unlit torch in his hand, he kind of wished he’d stayed.

It was November second. Burning day.

“Sammy, I’m not sure I can do this,” he admitted. His words soared out into the night, loud in the glade despite the damp press of the cool winter air. He shook his head ruefully, twisting a smile as he carefully studied his boot laces. “Not just this, but – all of it, man. I guess - I guess we took out a lot of ‘em, huh? I don’t think there’s gonna be a whole lot of work left to do.”

He bit his lip and shifted, studying the stars instead. “There’s always gonna be things to hunt, I know that. But …” He gripped the wooden torch roughly, splinters threatening to break off into his calloused skin. “I just … I don’t wanna lose anybody else. I can’t be … responsible for anybody else.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, feeling his body deflate with the motion. Words lodged in his throat and he cleared it, shaking his head like that would set them free.

“So, uh, I guess what I wanted to say was, I’ll do it.” He felt the cold metal of the lighter in his left hand and flipped it open, thumbing the flame to life. “I’ll live, like you asked me to. I … I’ll let you go.” His eyes were locked on the body atop the pyre: his brother, wrapped tightly in strips made hastily from motel sheets, and he struggled to see through the film of moisture rising behind his lids.

Dean knew if he waited one more second he’d never go through with it. His breathing was harsh and jagged, and with almost too much force, he swung the torch to touch the tip of the sparking flame.

The kindling caught and the torch flared to life. Dean edged hesitantly closer, feeling the heat from the flame, wondering again how the hell Sam had been strong enough to do this on his own.

When he spoke, he was sure he was using up the rest of his words forever.

“Goodbye, Sam.”

He tipped the edge of the torch towards the dead, dry wood at the base of the pyre. The chilled air retreated from the flame, and slowly the bundles nearest to the blaze began to heat and smoke, blackening as the fire took hold.

Dean held his breath as he waited, and it seemed as though the forest held its breath, too.

 _Dean?_

A wind so strong he almost lost his grip blew out of the curtain of trees, extinguishing the flame. The icy chill bit into him, and over the rushing sound, he heard a quiet, audible voice.

 _Dean?_

The voice was low and intimate, like the speaker knew him personally, and quite well. It was gentle, calm and soothing as a mountain creek, but it also held power. Currents of thunder and lightning echoed beneath the still, small sound.

“I … I’m … yeah?” He answered eloquently. _Oh, brilliant Winchester, now’s a fantastic time to go crazy._ He dropped his hand to his side and listened regardless.

 _Dean, stop._

“Who’s there?” He whispered. The wind died down immediately, and he had the strange sensation that it had been trying to get his attention before. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t mess with me right now.”

 _Dean, do not harm the child._

“Sammy?” He frowned. The very statement was anathema. Like he’d ever want to hurt Sam. Only, he already had.

 _Lay not your hand upon the child, nor do anything unto him. For now I see that you have not withheld your brother - your only family – from Me._

Dean dropped the torch and fell to his knees. The wet press of frozen earth soaked through his jeans, and he could see his breath forming a mist in the clear air. His heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears, and he felt his pulse in the tips of his fingers.

He’d read these words before.

“Are you –“ _No way, don’t even_ think _it._ But hope had already sprung to life, and Dean knew there was no going back.

 _You have been faithful, asking nothing for yourself, and have sacrificed much, as Abraham did before you. I have decreed, and so shall it be. Your Soul shall be restored to you._

Dean blinked furiously against the painful expansion of relief in his chest, valiantly trying to hold the floodgates back. “You mean …”

 _Arise, My child. Lift up your eyes, and receive back that which you have lost._

“Wait, I don’t –“ _believe you_ , he wanted to say, but how could he? The voice seemed to almost laugh, and it felt like a sigh on the breeze; gentle gusts of wind lightly ruffling his hair.

 _No strings, Dean. It’s free. Just take it._

With one last soft sigh, the wind and the voice were gone.

It was like all of his muscles unlocked at once. Dean all but lunged at the pyre, pulling his knife and cutting Sam loose with frantic but careful strokes. His numb fingers fumbled at the bindings, and by the time he’d uncovered Sam’s face he was shaking all over, and not from the cold.

Sam’s skin was alabaster pale inside the shroud, his face still serene and so _young_. He was freezing to Dean’s touch. “Sammy?” Dean blurted hopefully, brushing his fingers across his brother’s cheeks.

“Oh, come on man, this isn’t funny. Just, just open your eyes and I swear, you can tease me about angels and unicorns and whatever the hell else you want for the rest of our unnatural lives, just please, _please_ breathe …” Nerves on fire and flocks of butterflies warring for space in his stomach, Dean pressed two fingers to the hollow of Sam’s throat. For an eternal instant, nothing happened.

But then he felt it.

 _Thump-thump._

Faint, but growing stronger by the second, Dean was sure of it. His heart dropped back to where it was supposed to be, and common sense kicked in. Adrenaline fueled him, and he tore the grave cloths further, ripping open Sam’s shirt to reveal his chest beneath. A startled yell tore from his throat.

Healed. Sam was healed.

The jagged line where the sword had pierced his brother was gone; only the neat, precise row of sutures remained behind. Dean whooped out loud, cutting off sharply when he saw the sudden rise and fall of Sam’s chest. “Sammy?”

The cold air rattled roughly in Sam’s throat as he took his first breath. He sputtered violently, coughing and gasping as he fought to get things moving again. Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, scanning the empty field. How was no one else around to see this? “Sammy? Sam!” he called, climbing up the pyre and raising himself to look into his brother’s eyes.

Sam’s eyes were screwed shut in concentration, and he was breathing hard through his nose, slowly, like he would have after a long run. The corners of his mouth twitched into a fond smile. “What’s …” he gasped, “what’s a guy … ahg.” Another shuddering breath seemed to fix it. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some sleep around here?”

Sam’s eyes snapped open, zeroed in on Dean’s.

Dean _felt_ his soul, jagged edges quickly smoothing, settle firmly into place. “You … you, wait, what?” He breathed.

Sam grinned. “You’re letting me go, huh?” Hazel eyes sparkled with an inner light. Sam’s smile could raise the sun early, make flowers grow in a wasteland, end world hunger … and Dean was grinning like an idiot, and he didn’t care if that made him the world’s biggest pansy, Sam was back, Sam was _alive_.

He cuffed Sam gently on the side of the head, laughing. “Nah, I’d never do that. ‘Sides, you’re my moral compass,” he added. “Need you around to bitch at me. Everybody else is too scared to do your job.”

Sam laughed and promptly went back to gasping. Dean reached out for him, the motion involuntary as they both fell silent, content for the moment to simply stare in wonder, waiting for Sam to catch his breath.

Finally Sam broke the silence. “So, um … you gonna let me up?”

Dean started at that. He’d almost forgotten where they were. “Crap. Hold on.” He cast around for the knife and found it. Carefully he went back to work, cutting down from Sam’s chest, working the linen strips free. He checked on Sam constantly during the process, enjoying the slow return of color to his brother’s face. Sam lay quietly, watching the stars and gathering energy.

“Dean?”

Absorbed in a particularly tight section, _man, I really tied these,_ Dean spared a glace in Sam’s direction. “Yeah?”

“Before I forget … uh,” he hesitated, and mingled in with the reflections of the stars in Sam’s eyes, Dean saw glistening tears.

“What?”

“Uh – Mom and Dad … they, heh. They say hi.” Sam gave a sort of helpless shrug, lifting his head and trying to wriggle his arms loose.

Dean felt his eyebrows make a break for it. “They say ‘hi’?”

Sam winced apologetically and laughed. “Lame, right?” His face softened, and he pulled one arm loose. He reached for Dean, catching his shoulder with his fingertips. “I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t really remember much. Just – “Dean felt his throat burn suddenly at the look in Sam’s eyes. “They were there, and they’re together. They’re ok, Dean. I remember that.”

Dean nodded tightly, sniffling a little. Later he would blame it on the cold. For now, he’d just enjoy it, hold the knowledge to his heart and keep it safe. He’d hoped his dream on the battlefield had been true. Now he knew it was. Maybe it hadn’t even been a dream.

Dean grunted as he pulled the knife through the last piece of binding, setting Sam free. Sam grasped his outstretched hand and pulled himself up slowly, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead in spite of the cold. When he caught Dean’s worried gaze, he grinned.

“Hey – it’s not bad for a guy that’s been mostly dead all day!” He quipped.

“Yeah, well. C’mon, Dread Pirate Roberts. Let’s get you to the ship.”

Sam wrapped a long arm around Dean’s shoulder, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist, and they moved slowly away from the pyre together.

One fractured soul had entered the glade; but two souls - bright, shining, and free from the curse of flames – left, never to return.

 

~*~

 

“You look like Hell.”

“I’ve _been_ to Hell, Sam.”

“You need antibiotics.”

“What I _need_ is for you to stop _hovering_.”

Bobby’s cheeks hurt from so much grinning, and he took a minute to rub out the cramps in his cheeks before finishing his all-important task at hand: making lunch. The sound of Sam and Dean bantering back and forth was better than music; it was like oxygen. He’d never have thought all those years ago, clinging to his wife as her blood stained his hands, that he’d be able to have this. To have _family_.

Bobby had informed those boys in no uncertain terms that next time, it was _his_ turn to die, they weren’t allowed to do it anymore, ‘cos he couldn’t take it and if he was gonna have a heart attack or somethin’ then he needed them around so he’d have somebody to leave all his crap to. At the conspiratorial look of their exchanged glance, he had added just as firmly that he’d be writing up a DNR form, in Latin, and he was expectin’ them both to sign it or he’d kick their asses.

He lingered in the doorway, tray in his hands, content to just watch them. For all Dean was complaining about Sam’s hovering, he was hovering right back. It was a hoot, actually – the way they couldn’t stop touching each other, not even for a second.

Sam sat on the couch; Dean was there, hip-to-hip with him. Dean was at the computer; Sam was leaning over him, one hand resting on the table and the other propped up carefully on Dean’s shoulder, avoiding the cuts and bruises. It was a wonder they didn’t trip over each other.

But Bobby didn’t tease them, and he made sure to stick them both in the same room at night. He let them have their space, just taking time, measuring each other. Healing.

When Dean winced, skin pulling tight from his injuries, Sam winced too. Every now and then Bobby would catch the kid’s eyes darken, see the skin of his throat working hard to swallow his regret down. He knew the damage was far from healed. Sam’s memories of his time with Lilith were hazy at best, but things came to him in flashes. Usually the flashes were plenty to bring back the nightmares.

Dean was wounded, too, and more than just physically. He’d wept openly when Sam thanked him for keeping his promise. Sam had pulled him close and cried himself, throwing Bobby a somewhat dazed and helpless look over Dean’s shoulder.

Sometimes he’d catch whispered conversations floating down the hallway, and he knew Sam was asking Dean for details, and those times he’d just keep walking, because he didn’t know if he could stomach hearing them himself.

Yesterday, Dean had told Sam about the baby; he knew that much. He knew because Sam had damn near knocked him over in his rush to the bathroom to hurl, and Dean had been shaking in the bedroom, sitting with his head buried in his hands.

Dean had fallen silent, and Sam had looked sick all day. They had kept a careful distance, sitting across from each other at dinner. Bobby had been casting for words when suddenly without preamble Sam had dropped his fork and announced, “Dean, knock it off. It wasn’t your fault.”

Dean had stared back at Sam in shock for only an instant. He recovered quickly, countering with, “I could have stopped her, Sam. I didn’t-“

“Dean.” Sam cut him off firmly. “It’s _over_. I don’t – everybody did the right thing, alright? Please, man, just let it go.” Hazel eyes gazed across the table, pleading.

Dean had blown out a quiet sigh, relaxing in his chair. “Yeah, Sammy. Ok.”

They’d finished eating with no further comments, and as soon as dinner was over, Sam was right back in Dean’s space where he belonged, and Dean was bitching that Sam was in the way at the sink while they washed the dishes.

Now it looked like Sam was insisting on tending the raw strips on Dean’s back personally. Bobby shouldered his way into the living room, nearly knocking over a stack of books in the process, and set the tray down gently on the coffee table. “You boys hungry?” He asked.

Sam looked up, grinned. “Yeah, thanks. Hey – you got any Cipro? Or Amoxi, maybe?”

Dean rolled his eyes, twisting away from his brother and lowering his shirt to cover the ragged newly forming scars. “Dammit Sam, leave it. I said I’m fine.”

“Sure, Sam, I got some stuff. Check the first aid.” Sam beamed and scampered off to the kitchen. Bobby shook his head as he watched him go, amazed at the years that seemed to have melted away.

When he turned to Dean, there was a far-off wistful look in the young man’s eyes. Huh. Looked like Dean had noticed, too. “He’s right, ya know.” He said flatly.

Startled out of his reverie, Dean looked at Bobby with a shy grin. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll let him take care of me.”

“Well, miracles never cease.”

Dean laughed and sat, taking a sandwich from the tray. “We can’t stay here, you know.”

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest, stared at the ceiling. “I know.”

“Hunters come lookin’ for Sam, this’ll be the first place they come.” Dean added.

“I know.”

Sam came back in with a bottle of water and a vial of pills and plopped heavily down next to Dean on the small couch, even though there were plenty of empty chairs. Bobby suppressed a grin as Dean rolled his eyes and held out his hand, accepting the antibiotics without arguing. Sam seemed satisfied. “I miss anything?”

Dean swallowed down the pills and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah – I was just telling Bobby it’s about time we got out of here.” He watched closely as Sam’s smile faltered, disappointment showing, but only for an instant.

“You find a hunt?” Sam asked casually. Bobby held his breath. No way was that boy ready to hunt yet, neither of them were. But Sam would go if Dean said _yes_ , he’d go anywhere with that boy.

Dean shook his head, though, and Sam’s smile was back before Bobby could blink. “Nah. We saved the world, dude. Let’s take a vacation.”

Sam looked up at Bobby with something like awe in his eyes. “You boys earned it.” Bobby told him. “Besides, your brother’s been draggin’ me over God’s green earth for months. I could use some peace and quiet around here.”

Sam’s smile softened, and Bobby read the _thank you_ clear as day.

He’d miss them when they left, but they’d be alright. He’d watch their backs the best he could, deal with anyone who came lookin’. For now though, for tonight, he had his family close, and he was damn sure gonna enjoy it.

 

~ end


	16. Epilogue

He’d never forget the night he gave that girl a ride. It had been raining fit to beat the devil and there she was; all alone at the bus stop, a raggedy backpack slung over one shoulder and a brand new baby in her arms.

Funny. He never did remember, all the times he’d thought about it afterwards, ever hearing that baby cry.

“Headin’ in for shelter, I hope, miss?”

She’d cradled that kid in her thin arms like it was the most valuable thing on the green earth. She’d been so focused on it that he’d been sure she wouldn’t answer him.

But she’d just smiled brightly, that closely cropped hair of hers throwing rain drops everywhere as she shook her head vigorously.

“Ah, yeah, hope so.”

“Come on up.”

She climbed up onto the bus, looking at all the empty seats. “Gee, small crowd.”

He’d laughed. “Well, it is late. Where you headed?”

She’d picked the seat right in front. He’d been glad to have the company.

“Anywhere but here,” she’d said, and he’d thought he’d seen … something … in her eyes …

But that was crazy. That night, the storm, that beautiful child in the young woman’s arms: if it felt to him like there were powerful forces at work, then that was just the late shift talking.

But as he’d started to drive, he’d felt … wrong, somehow. They’d shared easy company, made simple conversation, but - when the baby had been awake the air had seemed tighter, thicker – everything in hyper focus, almost like the whole world was waiting to hear what the little one had to say.

She’d whispered softly in the baby’s ear, and it had drifted off to sleep again with one perfect hand wrapped around one of her long, delicate fingers.

“So, what’re you doin’ way out here?” Her sharp eyes had cut to his a little too quickly, but that bright smile was back just as fast.

“No way I’m telling _you_. You might be some kind of _freak_.” Her laugh had sounded so innocent, but for some reason he’d had shivers.

“Well now, little lady, I can’t hardly fault you for being too careful. You hear about that mess back in Lawrence? Horrible, awful stuff. Lost a lotta good people out there, ya ask me.”

She’d been quiet then, and she’d turned away, nuzzling the child close and pressing a careful kiss to the soft crown of its skull, breathing in the scent of its silky brown hair. “Yeah,” she’d whispered, so quietly he’d barely heard her. “Yeah we did.”

He’d felt like an ass, that’s what. Obviously he was intruding. He’d cleared his throat, tried to change the subject.

“Good baby you got there. Girl or boy?”

She’d smiled again, a little sadder than the last time, and he could have sworn there were tears welling in her eyes. At least they were shining bright, so large and dark, but in the mirror it was too hard to see to say for sure.

“Girl.” She’d whispered.

“Well, that’s great. I got a little boy, myself. What’d you name her?”

“Persephone.” she’d said. “She’s a Winchester. Like the rifle.”

When she’d said the baby’s name, well, to this day he thought he was crazy, but damn if the biggest bolt of lightning he’d ever seen had split the ground behind the bus, right in _two_. He’d damn near jumped out of his skin, but that girl … that girl had just thrown back her head and _laughed_ , a full-on laugh that sent those shivers in his spine running for cover.

He’d dropped them off not too long after that, at yet another rainy bus stop, and when he’d turned to wish her good luck, they’d been gone.

He still never could reckon where they’d come from; or where they went to. But he knew one thing for sure.

He’d never forget the night he gave that girl a ride.


End file.
